


Another Life

by TeaHouseMoon



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: AU where homophobia as we know it doesn’t exist, Dark, First Kiss, First Meeting, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, I’ve gone crazy again, M/M, Rebecca AU, Sex, Smut, in other words men can marry and it’s not a big deal even though it’s the ‘40s, more tags will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 52,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Elio has never experienced love.One night, in Montecarlo, he does.This is a Rebecca AU.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 583
Kudos: 388





	1. Prologue - The Man with Blue Eyes

Thinking about it, Elio was surprised at how quickly it happened.

At how quickly he raised his gaze, and looked across the hall - and found his eyes. Blue like ice, and a moment later, turquoise like tormented sea waves.

He was tall. With wide shoulders, ash blonde, thick hair pulled back. Long dark eyelashes framed his eyes, that were now looking intently, holding Elio’s gaze, unflinching and untamed.

It was like Elio could not look away. But he was still in the crowded hall of a luxury hotel in Montecarlo, with Mrs Mafalda, as her companion, and she had already noticed his distraction.

“Come, darling,” Mafalda said, and while her tone was calm, Elio knew she wasn’t best pleased. “We have to join the Rossi family for dinner.” 

Elio looked at her. Nodded, then looked down for a moment, to come back to reality. He wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t daydreamed the blue eyes that had been looking at him from across the room - the tall, handsome man that they belonged to. But when he looked back up again - just one last time, just to try - the man was still there, and still looking.

“Come on,” Mafalda insisted, and took Elio’s hand, pulling him along with her, and Elio looked away, somewhat reluctantly, but intent on focussing on what he needed to do, least he’d have to listen to Mafalda’s telling offs.

Elio had been in Montecarlo for a week. 

He’d travelled there from Crema, in Northern Italy, as companion to Mrs Mafalda, who was his old governess but had now married rich and could afford holidays, trips to big cities, travels and luxury shopping.

Elio’s mother had been fond of Mafalda all her life. Mafalda had basically raised him, and now that she could travel she had proposed to have Elio with her as her companion, which worked for both - she wouldn’t travel alone, and Elio would get to experience other countries, other cultures, and learn the ways of high society.

It was all very boring.

Well, not all. Elio liked travelling. He liked exploring new places. He liked trying new things, new activities, seeing museums and exhibitions and shows and concerts. 

But he was still only seventeen, and the people who populated Mafalda’s circles were all very rich, all quite a lot older, all interested in talking about trade, money, the stock market - everything that Elio despised. 

Elio liked music. He liked art. He liked reading, and he liked solitude. 

But all these people really cared about was connections - about manners and about appearances. Mafalda reprimanded him if he wanted to stay in his room - it wasn’t polite, she said, if they were invited somewhere and he didn’t attend. 

And so Elio had to do as she said - but he was bored. So, so tempted to go back into his head and stay there, thinking of the music he wanted to transcribe and to play, thinking of a storyline, a character in a new book he was reading. 

Mafalda did say all those books were putting weird ideas in his mind.

At the end of dinner that night, he’d gone back to his room, exhausted. He’d planned to read for a while, but he was honestly so tired that his eyes were already closing.

He undressed, got ready for the night. And then, on a whim, he walked to the large window that opened up on the gardens behind the hotel. The night was clear, and it was warm - it was the beginning of September. Elio opened the window, and leant on the window sill, looking outside. The moon shone and illuminated the green and blacks of the garden faintly. But he could see a figure. Someone, tall, smoking a cigar by the huge oak tree that stood, majestic, guarding the woods.

It was the man he’d seen earlier.

Elio’s heart gave a jump. He knew he should not stare, he should not pry. He should step away from the window, and go to bed. 

But he couldn’t. He stood, as if frozen, too curious and too intrigued to move. Watching the man bring the cigar to his lips, with an elegant movement of his large hand. He was well dressed - different than earlier, but still handsome.

But Elio knew he would get himself in trouble. It was too late to do anything about it, though, when the man, suddenly, looked up, as if he sensed he was being watched. His eyes locked with Elio’s; Elio felt his whole face flush up in shame. 

And yet, he still couldn’t move. 

He was too curious. And now the man had seen him, anyway.

Elio bit his lower lip, feeling his cheeks warm up, more and more. Now, he’d looked for long enough - now the man would probably be disgruntled, annoyed, he’d probably complain to the front desk about the kid who stared at him from a window.

But instead - the man smiled.

Gently, tentatively. Just a small stretching of the lips. 

But it made his eyes gleam in the moonlight. And Elio had to stifle a gasp. He took a breath, and then a step back, and pulled the curtains hastily.

That man, that beautiful, mysterious man, had looked at him again - smiled at him. 

He existed, and he knew Elio existed.

Elio sighed. Walked to the bed, lay down. He didn’t think he was going to be able to sleep that night. 


	2. Chapter 2 - You need to be more sociable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter to celebrate the trailer of Rebecca dropping today! 
> 
> A couple of notes on this story. 
> 
> It will not follow the original story of Rebecca exactly, just the general outline of it. Will see how it develops and how much I borrow from the original.. 
> 
> Also, this is set in an alternate universe where homophobia does not exist like we know it. So, a man can marry a man, etc. Artistic licence, if you want. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The next morning, Elio went down to breakfast early.

He wasn’t hungry, but he craved a cup of coffee - luckily, the coffee in the French Riviera resembled the one he was used to in Italy, unlike the one he’d tried in America and England.

When the waitress brought him his cappuccino, he clutched the mug in his hands, taking a moment to enjoy its warmth, and the smell, even before tasting it. 

He was sitting at a small table near the back of the room, further away from the entrance. He liked to sit by the wall - he felt less in the spotlight like that, less vulnerable at such an early hour in the morning, when he was still between reality and dreams. He liked to watch people. Read a little, maybe. He’d brought a book today - one on Vivaldi, which he’d just started reading. 

Elio took another sip of his coffee; then he opened his book on the table, focused on the pages. 

He didn’t want to think.

So he almost didn’t notice someone approaching him. He almost startled, when a voice, low, friendly, resounded next to him.

“Mind if I sit at this table?”

Elio looked up. Into the blue eyes he’d seen, the day before, in the hall.

“I -“ he started, and for a moment, almost forgot his words. “No, of course. Sit, if you - if you want.”

Elio wasn’t sure if he’d sounded polite, or he’d followed etiquette. But Mrs Mafalda wasn’t around yet, and he didn’t have to worry about having offended the man, because he sat down, smiling, seemingly content with Elio’s answer.

“I like this sort of spot. You can get to know a lot about the place by watching people,” the man said.

Elio observed him as the waitress gingerly came over to take his order, a black espresso. The man thanked her, then sat back, waiting for his coffee to arrive.

“My name is Oliver.”

It made Elio blink in surprise. He wasn’t expecting the man - Oliver - to introduce himself.

“I’m Elio. Elio Perlman,” he made himself say, not letting go of the book he still clutched in his hands.

Oliver smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Elio Perlman. What brings you to Montecarlo, then?”

Elio blinked again. Lifted his chin.

It was a question he’d been asked all through the past week, except so far it had been Mafalda’s acquaintances asking, all much older, all looking at him with amusement, curiosity, not with the sort of interest that Oliver was showing. Genuine interest.

“I’m - here with - Mafalda Manfredi. I’m her companion. We got here a week ago,” Elio said. It was what he’d gotten used to saying in response to such a question, but he didn’t know if it made much sense to Oliver.

The older man nodded, took a sip of his coffee. Didn’t seem particularly fazed, or bothered either way.

“How are you enjoying it here?”

Elio bit his lip. Oliver seemed so confident, almost - bold. He was taking his space, unapologetic. It made Elio want to shrink, make himself smaller - and yet made him curious, made him want to know more. To gravitate closer to this man who radiated such confidence, such self-assuredness.

“It’s okay,” Elio replied. Not knowing how to explain further, not knowing if he even should.

“Just okay?” Oliver looked at him, a little smile on his face. He seemed intrigued. “I’ve only got here yesterday. I’m liking it, so far.”

Elio thought for a moment, his teeth chewing his lower lip. He didn’t mean to sound uninterested, or ungrateful. It was just that the people he’d been spending time with were all much older, and he liked to spend time alone, anyway - but he wasn’t sure how to explain himself.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Oliver didn’t look away. Elio was fully expecting him to leave, possibly make up the excuse of a meeting he needed to attend, or an event he had to go to, whatever somebody like Oliver would be in Montecarlo to do - Elio wasn’t being the best conversation partner right now, nor he was sounding interesting at all.

But instead, Oliver’s eyes stayed on him. Intense; studying him.

Elio held his gaze for a few seconds, until he couldn’t anymore, and swallowed, looking back down at his book, and the cup of coffee that was now going cold.

“Ah, there you are!”

Mafalda’s voice made him look up. She walked to the table, already dressed, her face her usual serious expression - until her eyes fell on Elio’s breakfast companion.

“Oh. _Guarda_. Mister De Winter, how nice to see you!”

Elio blinked, and his eyes widened. He remembered a moment later that Mafalda knew almost everyone at this point, though he wasn’t expecting her to also know Oliver, he’d just arrived in Montecarlo after all. He watched her reach out his hand to shake his - Oliver politely standing up at her arrival, his charming, open smile back in place.

“I’m Mafalda Manfredi. I’ve heard so much about you, and also that you’d be coming. I knew your mother. Such a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

Elio watched the exchange, book clutched in his hands, almost holding his breath. Mafalda was so direct sometimes, that he wondered if she was perhaps too much, too forward. She didn’t care that Oliver knew that she’d been talking about him to her acquaintances - though of course, not to Elio - and she was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling in interest. She sat down across from Oliver, next to Elio, and Oliver sat back down in his place too.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ma’am. I’ve heard about you.”

Mafalda’s smile widened. “Oh, you have?”

“Yes,” Oliver nodded, then looked to Elio. “Elio has been telling me about your trip here in Montecarlo. I can’t wait to experience what it’s got to offer, too.”

Mafalda looked at Elio. He didn’t miss the way her eyes changed, from excited to concerned. She was probably thinking he’d said or done something rebellious as usual that made the both of them look bad in Oliver’s eyes.

But Oliver was still looking at him, directly. His smile was gentler, now. Elio looked at him for a moment, then had to look away, his cheeks warming up. Oliver’s comment echoing in his head. _I can’t wait to experience what Montecarlo has to offer._

Elio was definitely getting ahead of himself. Daydreaming, getting ideas into his head that he shouldn’t - as Mafalda would say. He needed to leave before he made a fool of himself.

“I -“ Elio started, then remembered, cleared his throat -  _ manners, manners.  _ “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to my room now. I - I have to get ready for my swimming class.”

He didn’t wait for either Mafalda or Oliver to respond, or comment. He stood, placing his handkerchief back on the table, carefully but quickly. He could feel Mafalda’s eyes on him; she wasn’t happy. 

“Hope to see you around, Elio.”

Oliver’s voice was warm. As friendly as ever, as Elio walked away. 

“What did your head tell you?”

Mafalda’s voice resounded, sharp and loud, when Elio let her into his room a few minutes later. Sometimes, especially when she was annoyed, she used words and sayings translated directly from Italian.  _ Cosa ti dice la testa? _

“I have my swim class,” Elio replied, quiet, though looking at her directly. “And what was I supposed to do, anyway?”

“That was rude! _Maleducato_. Do you know who that is?!”

Elio lifted his chin. Frowned at her.

Mafalda folder her arms in front of her chest, sighing.

“That was Oliver De Winter. He’s one of the most well-known landowners in England. In Europe, even. His family is important, and influent, he’s the heir of their fortune. He’s a person to have on your side, certainly, if you want to get into the right circles!”

Elio shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

“You shouldn’t have left like that,” Mafalda reprimanded. “That was our chance to make a good impression.”

Elio sighed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. He’d heard this before - you need to make more of an effort. You need to be more sociable. You need to make connections. Mafalda had never held back from telling him exactly where he got it wrong.

But while usually he wasn’t that bothered, about connections, about getting into the right circles, as she described them, and only did as he was told so he wouldn’t have to hear Mafalda grumbling, this time it was different. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in their new acquaintance, or that he wanted to avoid Oliver altogether. It wasn’t that.

But he felt strange. The way the man looked at him; the way he’d looked at him from the very beginning, the day before. The way he felt every time he had those blue eyes on him, the way they seemed to almost caress Elio as they scanned his body slowly. The way his voice was warm and yet caring and interested when he spoke to him. 

Elio felt strange. There was something that tightened in his chest, something that had never happened to him before. He didn’t know how to handle it.

He sighed again.

“I’m sorry, Mafalda,” he said. Tried looking up at her with his best guilty eyes. “I’ll be more polite next time.”

He held the woman’s severe stare. Her lips were tightened in a thin line. But her gaze was already softening. Elio knew she wouldn’t stay angry at him for too long.

“You need to be better, _tesoro_ ,” she said, and reached out with a hand, cupped Elio’s cheek with her palm, and then squeezed it a little, like a gentle pinch.

And Elio thought all was back to normal - when the phone in his hotel room rang. 

Elio looked towards it, frowned. Then stepped closer to pick up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Elio? This is Oliver. We spoke this morning, at breakfast.”

Elio held his breath. Oliver? Why was Oliver calling his room?

“Hi. Oliver, I -“

“Sorry to call unannounced. But I thought of something, and wanted to ask and see if you’d be amenable.”

“Amenable?” Elio clutched the receiver tighter. He could feel Mafalda’s eyes, on him, as she intently listened. “To what?”

“Well. As I said earlier - this is my first time in Montecarlo. And you’ve been here for a few days, so... I was thinking perhaps you’d show me around, today? Or tomorrow, if it works better. No pressure, of course. But it would save me having to loot around on my own, if you know what I mean? Would be rather lonely.”

Oliver. Oliver De Winter, asking Elio to show him around Montecarlo?

Oliver De Winter wanting to spend time with him?

“I-“ Elio started. Mafalda was still staring at him, her expression now inquisitive and expectant.

“I understand if you’ve got obligations, I assume you can’t really leave Mrs Manfredi alone too long. So, like I said - please don’t feel pressured.”

Elio looked at Mafalda. Of course he wanted to spend more time with Oliver. He was terrified at the thought, though. He was intimidated. 

But the feeling he had when he’d first laid eyes on him was there, even stronger than before. And, incredibly, Oliver hadn’t found him boring - he actually wanted to spend time with him, too.

“She’s - she’s right here,” Elio said, tentatively, words tumbling out of his mouth almost without his permission.

“I’m happy to speak to her, if that makes it easier.” Oliver had understood immediately.

Elio knew Mafalda was dying to know what was going on. She’d probably overheard most of the conversation. And so he handed her the phone, wordlessly.

“Mister De Winter!” Mafalda greeted in her Italian accent. A moment later, her eyes widened, then gleamed again. “But of course Elio will show you around. _No caro, nessun problema._ Elio would be more than happy to. Of course.”

Elio’s eyes widened too. No chance to pull back now.

“Good day, Oliver.” Mafalda hung up the phone, and then looked at Elio.

“You’re going to meet Oliver De Winter downstairs in the hall at four this afternoon. Now go, do what you have to do. I want you cleaned and dressed and looking gorgeous in time for your appointment today.”

Without a further word she turned around, and left the room.

And that’s how it was that Elio started spending time with Oliver in Montecarlo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave me a comment ;)


	3. An outing

Elio’s anxiety played with his mind the whole time, in the lead up to his appointment with Oliver.

He was an introverted person. He liked solitude, he liked to sit with his thoughts more often than not. But now there was the element of fear, too, because what could he possibly have to say, or to share, with somebody like Oliver De Winter? An older, handsome, wealthy, cultured and well-travelled man - Elio was already surprised Oliver had asked him to be his chaperone to begin with. He was surely going to be bored, he was definitely going to regret his decision.

And Elio also thought he probably looked ridiculous next to Oliver. 

As he arrived in the hall, and saw him there, by reception, already waiting, Elio wanted to shrink. Possibly run. 

Oliver looked like a movie star, one of those in Elio’s favourite movies, like Cary Grant, like Laurence Olivier - even while he was dressed down, in linen trousers and a blue cotton shirt that highlighted his ocean-coloured eyes.

Elio squeezed his hands into fists, though, and forced himself to keep walking towards the man who was now smiling at him. He wanted to spend time with Oliver, it wasn’t just Mafalda’s decision. A lot about the man intrigued Elio.

It was just scary. Daunting. He’d never frequented people that cultured, that experienced.

“Good afternoon, Elio. Thanks for coming to meet me.”

Elio forced himself to hold Oliver’s eyes. He had to look up to do so - to properly look at him in the face - because the man was so tall. It made something crackle in Elio’s chest, though Elio didn’t want to linger on that feeling just yet.

“It’s - it’s fine,” Elio shook his head, demure. He felt already out of place in his cotton trousers, his neck shirt; he bit his lip, made himself look back up at Oliver, forcing himself not to focus on the outfit he couldn’t change, not right now anyway. 

“Where did you want to go?”

“I don’t really know. Don’t know the place at all. I was thinking maybe you could show me your favourite spots?”

Favourite spots. Elio thought quickly, grappling with his mind before anxiety made all thoughts disappear. 

He liked the port. He liked walking by the shore. He liked sitting by the sea to read. There were a few cafes he liked that he could take Oliver to, perhaps.

He made himself talk before he lost his nerve.

“Sure. Let’s walk.”

TheCafe du Cirque had a big name, but in reality, it was a small, intimate place. 

Elio liked the old school feel of it, how it reminded him of small bars in Italy. He’d discovered it on his first or second day in Montecarlo, and he’d gone there every day since, to get coffee and read while Mafalda rested in the early afternoon.

This time, as well, Elio asked for a coffee. Oliver ordered a beer. 

It was the first thing that surprised Elio.

He observed Oliver, interestedly, as the man got himself comfortable on the small garden chair, in the patio of the cafe. It was a great spot for people watching, but for a few moments Elio found he couldn’t take his eyes off Oliver. He’d expected him to choose coffee - another espresso perhaps - or wine. White wine, Prosecco, like Mafalda’s friends always did.

Oliver looked at him, and smiled - and that’s when Elio remembered he had been staring. 

Make conversation,  Mafalda would say.  You need to make people feel comfortable in your company.

“So, uh. What brings you to Montecarlo?” Elio asked, when their orders had been brought to the table. He brought his coffee to his lips, feeling his face flush. He hoped he’d asked the right thing.

Oliver chuckled quietly.

“A meeting on behalf of my family,” he said. He took a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving Elio’s face. “We have property on the French Riviera. It’s tedious, really. I wish I was only here on vacation.”

Elio nodded. He wanted to show he followed.

“But you - you’ll have time to have some fun, right?”

He bit his lip as soon as the words left his lips. How silly, possibly even inappropriate. His cheeks went even warmer as he heard Oliver laugh.

“Well, yes. I hope so, at least. Will definitely use my time well.”

That voice; the lower tone, again, the one that made Elio’s mind go into overdrive. 

And he’d only known the guy for one day. He didn’t know what was happening to him.

“Do you - have a lot of these meetings, then.” Elio tried to bring the conversation back to a more professional topic.

“Yes, I do. I have to. But, let me tell you - I hate them.”

“Really?”

Oliver took another sip, then turned more towards Elio on his chair.

“Yes. There’s nothing interesting in them. Nor in the people who take part in them.”

“Oh.” Elio was surprised again. “I thought...”

Oliver let out a sigh.

“I know. I sound spoiled. Privileged. Don’t I? But, what can I say. My interests are elsewhere.”

Elio nodded once more. He was really surprised. From the little he knew about Oliver, and from what Mafalda has said, he’d imagined him to be interested, involved in his family wealth and business matters. Instead, Oliver talked about it with scorn, almost.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Elio didn’t know what to say.

Oliver’s features, which had tensed somewhat, relaxed again, and he smiled. 

“Nah. It’s all fine. But tell me about you?”

Elio blinked, his eyebrows arching up, even more surprised. “Me?”

“Yeah. Much more interesting.”

A second drink later (Elio had gone for a hot chocolate, Oliver for another beer), Elio had tried to answer Oliver’s questions as best as he could. He was seventeen, he studied music at a college in Italy. He spoke French and Italian. He was homeschooled and had a tutor, which is why he could travel with Mafalda for a lot of the time. He liked reading. 

By the end of it, he felt a little less self conscious, a little more relaxed - though still shocked that Oliver wanted to know so much about him.

“It’s good that you like books,” Oliver said, drinking the last of his beer. “I like writing.”

“You do?” Elio clutched his hot chocolate mug between his palms. Even if the warmth had faded now, he liked the feel of it, the smell - the fact that it made him feel as comfortable as he now felt in Oliver’s presence. “Maybe one day I’ll read one of your books.”

Oliver shook his head. “Nah. I doubt it.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and dropped a few Francs on the table to pay for their drinks. “It’s almost dinner time. Shall we walk back?”

When they arrived back at the hotel, Elio’s head was in turmoil. 

He’d liked spending some time with Oliver. The man intrigued him, very much. He’d seemed so different from him, and yet now, after having talked to him for a couple of hours, Elio felt him so much closer. So much similar. Not at all like the person he’d imagined.

And his eyes. Elio didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone with those eyes - with that blue in their irises that changed according to every little emotion that Oliver seemed to be experiencing. 

And the look in them - the way they looked at Elio. He felt shivers just thinking about it, though he wasn’t sure yet what he thought that look meant.

When they reached the hall, it was time to separate to go to their own rooms. Elio had been thinking about something clever to say, something interesting, something that wasn’t just lame small talk, to say goodbye to Oliver - though he really didn’t want to say goodbye. He wanted to continue their acquaintance. He wanted to spend more time talking. 

He wanted Oliver to look at him some more.

“Thanks, for today, Elio,” Oliver said, stopping in front of Elio, smiling. “See you tomorrow?”

And Elio’s heart gave a jump. Did Oliver really mean that? Was he going to ask if they could meet again? Did he want to spend time with Elio again like today?

“I - huh, I’d love to.” His awkwardness had come back, but he wasn’t expecting Oliver’s question.

“Excellent. I’ll meet you at breakfast? Then we can plan our outing for tomorrow?” Oliver said, his smile widening.

And Elio smiled, too. He felt his cheeks warm, but pleasantly now. His heart was beating fast.

“Yeah. For sure. See you at breakfast.”

Elio returned to his room in a daze. He felt excited, energised. He didn’t even know why, exactly. 

It was probably because of the novelty of having met someone closer to his age in Montecarlo. It was maybe because that handsome, charming, interesting guy had asked him to meet again. 

It was maybe because he would get to see Oliver’s eyes, to speak to him, to look at his smile again.

He freshened up, changed his shirt, and then went to see Mafalda in her room, as he always did before they went down to dinner together.

Mafalda was pleased that his afternoon with Oliver had gone well.

“That’s great, _caro_ ,” she said, and nodded, satisfied. “You’re getting better at this.”

Elio was in such a good mood that he didn’t even acknowledge Mafalda talking about manners and connections.

“He’s very pleasant. And interesting,” he said, as he walked alongside Mafalda down the hallway to the hotel restaurant. 

“Yes, my dear. This is what everybody says about him. You know, when he got married -“

Elio held his breath.

“He’s married?”

The waiter welcomed them and showed them to their table, but Elio almost didn’t even notice. He sat down, across from Mafalda at the small table for two, impatiently waiting for her to dismiss the waiter and finish her sentence.

“Yes. He was. His wife was called Elise. Sadly, she died; but he adored her. Absolutely, utterly adored her.”

Mafalda picked up the menu, focussing on the words on the page, spelling in elegant cursive the dishes of the day.

Elio could not speak. His mind was thinking furiously. Thinking about what he’d just learnt. 

Suddenly, he was no longer hungry; suddenly, he was terribly curious, anxious, dying to know more about Oliver, and about what Mafalda had just said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? 😊


	4. Intriguing

The next day, Elio went down for breakfast earlier than usual.

He’d realised he and Oliver had not agreed on a time to meet. Oliver had just said ‘I’ll meet you at breakfast’, and so Elio had debated for a while the night before, thought about what to do, until he tired himself out enough to fall asleep. He’d decided to go down early, have coffee, and then wait. Read some more perhaps. That way, he’d surely not miss Oliver, once he came down too.

Except it was already 10am, and Oliver was nowhere to be seen.

Mafalda had her tennis lesson that morning - which was always more of an excuse to gossip with her friends than an actual fitness session - and so Elio was alone. He kept lifting his gaze from his book, every few moments or so, hoping to see Oliver finally appear. 

By 10:30am, he’d lost hope.

The waiters were already starting to tidy up and turn the room over for lunch. 

Elio collected his book, his room key, stood. Biting his lip, feeling his cheeks flush up in confusion, he walked out of the breakfast room.

And that’s when he saw him. Standing at the foot of the staircase next to the Reception desk. Talking to somebody, an older man, well dressed and quite serious looking. Elio wondered if that was one of family contacts Oliver had mentioned.

No matter, though. Elio clutched his book tighter under his arm, and got ready to walk up the stairs, go to his room, hopefully unnoticed. Clearly Oliver had changed his mind about wanting to see him again.

“Elio.”

Oliver’s voice. Calling him.

Despite himself, Elio stopped, and turned around. Mafalda had always told him it was rude to ignore people. And he told himself he was really just checking if he’d heard Oliver call him for real, or if it had been merely all in his head.

“Elio, hi.” Oliver was now alone. The older man who had been speaking to him now gone. He took a few steps towards Elio, who still stood a few steps up the stairs, unsure. 

“Sorry. Sorry. I know we said we’d meet at breakfast, but something came up. I had something to see to.” 

Oliver was looking up at him. 

And Elio thought it was strange, since he was the one who’d had to look up into Oliver until now, because the man was so tall.

“Oh, I - don’t worry. No big deal. I’ll just - I’m just going back to my room to read.”

“I’d still want to spend time with you today,” Oliver took another step closer, when Elio started to walk back up the stairs. “I’d really like it. If you want.”

Elio shook his head. “You don’t have to, Oliver, if you have things to do I-“

“No, I’d love to. Really.” Oliver had reached out with his hand, placed it on Elio’s forearm, fingers holding gently. 

Elio looked at it. At where Oliver was touching him, at where their skin touched for the first time.

Oliver seemed sincere. 

And so Elio made himself smile, briefly. 

“Okay. Sure.” 

“What do your parents think of you, travelling the world with Mrs Mafalda?”

Oliver’s eyes, in the sun of the late morning, were even clearer, even bluer. As they sat at a cafe - a different one, this time, Elio’s second favourite - Elio looked into them. He was glad the sun was on them; so he could blame his cheeks reddening on the rays that had been pleasantly warming them up. 

He loved that Oliver seemed so interested in him.

“They’re happy,” Elio said. He held his glass of orange juice between his hands, for something to do. “They want me to get out there, see the world. They’ve always been quite open and supportive.”

“That’s really good. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“What about your parents?” Elio took a sip from his glass.

There was a moment of silence, in which Oliver looked ahead of him. At the people taking walks by the road, at the kids playing with dogs and footballs.

“My parents are both dead.” And then, before Elio could even start to apologise: “No, it’s fine. I didn’t have a good relationship with them. They died a few years ago. Still have quite a large family to contend with, though. Mostly uncles and cousins.”

Oliver shrugged, and then smiled again. He seemed fine. And so Elio took a breath, relieved that he hadn’t said anything really hurtful or rude.

Yet, Oliver was still such a mystery. 

And there was the matter of the marriage. Elio was dying to know more about that.

But he couldn’t really ask, could he? He’d already embarrassed himself enough asking about Oliver’s dead mother and father. He couldn’t bring up his dead wife, too.

“You’re intriguing.”

Oliver’s voice broke through Elio’s little fog of overthinking. He blinked, surprised.

“Me? Intriguing?”

Oliver nodded. He leant forward as he sat, settling with his elbows on his knees, closer to Elio.

“Yes. There’s a lot about you. It’s like - you’re always thinking.” He smiled again, soft. “I’d love to know what’s going on behind those eyes of yours.”

Elio swallowed. 

He didn’t think he could answer. Didn’t think he could find the words. 

Never in a million years he’d have thought someone like Oliver, someone clever, fascinating, confident, would find him interesting instead. 

And the way Oliver was looking at him right now... straight into his eyes. As if he really wanted to uncover whatever mystery he felt Elio was hiding, just by looking into him. 

Elio wanted him to look. 

He wanted to open himself up to Oliver. He wanted to be discovered.

“Why don’t we go for another walk.” Oliver was the first to break the eye contact. “I think there’s a market, not far from here? They’ve told me you can buy food to go. Let’s grab something, and go to the beach?”

And Elio could only nod. 

He wasn’t hungry, again, or perhaps he was but his stomach really wasn’t cooperating, his body refusing to focus on anything other than his exchange with Oliver, the conversation between them. 

Oliver, however, insisted in buying food for the both of them. He bought bottles of lemonade to go with the sandwiches. He bought macarons for dessert, asked Elio to choose the flavours, made him laugh and teased him about his indecision between chocolate and custard.

When they walked to the beach, finding a quiet spot by the shore to eat their impromptu picnic, Elio felt relaxed enough to take a few bites of his food.

“Are you sure you don’t want to - sight see more?” he said, took a sip of lemonade. “I mean, so far we’ve been to cafes and - a market. And now the beach a few yards from the hotel. I’m a pretty bad chaperone.”

Oliver sighed. Looked down, then looked back up at Elio. There was a smile on his face, again. But this time, it was different. It was tender.

“Where does all this self-deprecating comes from, huh, sweet Elio?” He looked straight into Elio’s eyes. Purposely waiting, for a long moment.

And Elio held his breath, forcing himself to not shy away from Oliver’s eyes.  _ Sweet Elio. _

“ I don’t mind where we’ve been. I’m enjoying myself, and that’s what matters.” Oliver smiled again. “And I hope it’s the same for you.”

Elio could only return his look, pretty speechless for the moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m pretty busy these days but I try to write whenever I have time - I hope you liked this chapter. And I’m glad you’re liking this story so far. 
> 
> Please keep leaving me comments!!
> 
> Ps please note that I’ve never been to Montecarlo. I don’t know much about it, especially the ‘40s version of it! I’ll make up quite a few details ;)
> 
> Again this story will follow the general gist of Rebecca, but I’ll be making up my own scenes and building my own characters. :)


	5. La Maree

“We’re going to the La Marée,” Elio said, pronouncing the name of the restaurant in his perfect French accent.

Mafalda nodded, pleased.

She’d been kind of surprised when Elio had told her Oliver had invited him to dinner - just him, nobody else - because she’d expected Oliver to want to dine with more than just one guest. 

But all the same, even if she wasn’t in attendance, Elio would be, and that was fine for her. More than fine.

She reached out, fixed the collar of Elio’s white shirt. 

“Make sure to behave,” she said, her Italian accent marking the words. “This is a very nice place you’re going to.”

“Yes, I know,” Elio said, but stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He was in a really good mood. 

He leant over towards her and kissed her cheek. After all, she was like a mother to him. 

“I’ll see you later,” he told her, and turned on his heels, walking out of her room. 

“I liked English literature. Was good in history class, and philosophy. But I really hated maths.”

Oliver laughed gingerly at Elio’s recollection of his academic curriculum. He reached out to refill Elio’s glass; they were drinking Spumante.

Elio’s cheeks felt warm, flushed, and it was pleasant.

“My teacher wasn’t happy with me. But I think he had a crush on my dad, and so he forced himself to be nice to me.”

“Really,” Oliver feigned shock. “How unprofessional!”

Elio shook his head, and he was smiling, too. “Eh. He never acted on it. So it’s all good.”

They were nearly towards the end of the dinner. It had all been delicious: they’d had salmon tartare and oysters; truffle purée, spaghetti flambé. Elio couldn’t resist, and ordered French fries, too; he was pleased when Oliver stole some from his plate.

“Has that ever happened to you?”

Oliver’s question made Elio blink. He was taking another sip of his Spumante, and he had to think for a moment to remember what they were talking about.

“What? To hit on my teacher?”

“No, silly,” Oliver laughed. “To like someone.”

Elio bit his lower lip. “I guess.” He looked back down, to his plate, to what was left of his fries and fish. His cheeks were so, so warm.

“And how did that go?”

Elio looked back up. Oliver was looking at him, directly, his blue eyes interested but not overbearing. Elio felt like he could definitely make a joke if he wanted to deflect. 

But at the same time, he felt like he couldn’t pretend, not in front of him. Oliver had a certain way of commanding an exchange, a situation. Or at least, that’s how Elio felt. He bit his lip again.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, yet.”

His heart was making somersaults by the time he’d said his words. He didn’t know what had just happened; and he felt like he was being silly. It was just a question on Oliver’s side, like all the others he’d been asking him all night, and yet Elio had now decided to charge it with meaning.

The waiter came over then, bringing their bill, breaking the spell. 

Oliver paid - he stopped Elio’s hand, then the boy tried to reach out, touch his wrist to let him know he could pay, too. “Let me,” he’d said, his voice low.

By the time they left the restaurant, and walked out into the warm, quiet night, it was dark. Elio hadn’t realised it was so late.

Elio’s cheeks were still warm from their drinks. He let himself not think before speaking.

“What about you? Has it happened to you?”

Oliver looked at him as they walked, slowly, back towards the hotel. He slowed down, and Elio looked up at him, under the light of the streetlamps. 

“To like someone?” Oliver smiled. “Yes. A few times.”

Elio swallowed. Oliver had had a wife; a wife he adored. This was as good a time as any to ask about her. 

“And how did that go?” Elio asked, mimicking Oliver’s question earlier.

Oliver stopped walking. Elio did the same, looking up into Oliver’s eyes. Frowning.

Oliver smiled. “I don’t know yet.”

Well. That wasn’t the answer that Elio expected to receive. 

He frowned deeper. Wondered if the Spumante they’d drank was making it difficult for him to understand.

“What do you mean? I thought you...”

He didn’t know how it happened; but what he knew, was that he felt Oliver’s lips on his.

Suddenly. And it was probably a good thing, since he was certainly about to give himself away and show Oliver that he knew stuff about him that they hadn’t even talked about, private stuff that Elio had been told by Mafalda as gossip.

And then, a moment later, Elio realised how ridiculous he was being. Here he was. Thinking he’d dodged a bullet because Oliver hadn’t waited to hear the end of his sentence - when Oliver was kissing him.

Oliver was kissing him.

Elio was not going to lie. He did feel a little drunk. 

But he also felt very much in himself. He could feel everything. He was aware of everything. Aware of how fast his heart was beating. Aware of how scalding the skin on his cheeks felt; aware of the palm of Oliver’s hand, gently pressed to the side of his face, gently guiding his movements and encouraging him to open his mouth, let Oliver kiss him. 

Elio was aware of Oliver’s lips, of his tongue, of the taste in his mouth, of how addicted to it he felt already. Oliver tasted of mint, and white wine, and a little of tobacco. If he concentrated really hard, Elio could even find the taste of the espresso that Oliver drank with him in the morning.

When Oliver ended the kiss, with a few more, smaller kisses to Elio’s lips, Elio was already ready to beg for more.

“What is it that you thought?” Oliver’s voice was low when he pulled back. Quiet. His eyes, though, were sparkling.

“I-,” Elio started. He took a breath, looked back up into Oliver’s eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”

What he’d wanted to say was - you kissed me; but he couldn’t make himself. He felt on edge, already, excitement filling his whole body, an excitement he hadn’t known before. One that scared him and thrilled him at the same time.

Oliver laughed gently, and, for the first time that evening, lowered his eyes too. 

“Come on. Let’s go back. It’s already late, Mrs Mafalda will complain with me tomorrow,” he said, when he looked back up at Elio.

There was still a smile on his face. 

And Elio thought he didn’t mind going back to the hotel. He didn’t mind going to his room, now, sit in silence, and think about what just happened, think about what it meant. 

They’d parted in the hall of the hotel, where they’d said goodbye the past few days, because their rooms were at opposite ends of the building.

It was a blur, now that Elio thought about it. He didn’t remember wishing Oliver goodnight, but he must have, because he certainly remembered Oliver telling him to have sweet dreams.

In his room, in the dark, still with his good clothes on, Elio sat on the end of his bed. Fingers pressed to his lips.

Oliver had kissed him. That had really happened, hadn’t it? He hadn’t imagined it. Oliver’s hand had really been on Elio’s face, the tips of his fingers pushing into the thick shock of curls on Elio’s temple.

Oliver, whose wife Elio had wanted to ask about, had kissed him.

Elio pulled his hand away. He didn’t want the taste to disappear, the press and the damp of Oliver’s lips to leave his mouth. 

He undressed, until he was just in his underwear, then he lay down on the bed. He didn’t feel drunk anymore, not even tipsy. 

He felt giddy. Still disbelieving. Excited. Worried. 

Oliver hadn’t said that he wanted to see Elio again. He hadn’t asked him to wait for him at breakfast. 

Elio frowned, looking up at the ceiling. 

He needed to see Oliver tomorrow. He was going to call his room, maybe. Have concierge check if he was coming down for breakfast. Yes, that would work.

But until then, he thought, as he felt exhaustion slowly fill his body - until then he could think about that kiss, and let the thought lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? ;)


	6. That spot by the beach

Elio smiled at Oliver, the next morning, when he saw him him appear down at breakfast, even though his cheeks were on fire.

He told himself to act as natural as possible as Oliver walked to his table, though his hands trembled, and he hid them under the table, on his lap. He bit his lip as he responded to Oliver’s ‘good morning’, keeping his eyes down, on the croissant that now he wasn’t going to finish.

“Did you sleep well?” Oliver asked, flagging down the waiter to order his espresso. His eyes were on Elio once he’d done that, and Elio was sure Oliver could now see how red he was in the face.

“Yeah, I did. What about you?”  Did you think about our kiss until you feel asleep, like I did,  was what Elio really wanted to ask, but of course didn’t.

“I think I might have had a little too much to drink,” Oliver said, sheepishly. He was looking down at his menu, and Elio bit his lip again. Frowned, his heart skipping a beat in anxiety.

Did Oliver regret what happened between them?

“Do you feel.... sick?” Elio asked. He didn’t know what to say, really, just felt like he needed to say something. 

Of course, those words sounded stupid to him as soon as he’d uttered them. 

Oliver chuckled, quiet. Looked at him. His eyes seemed soft, and not mocking, like Elio was expecting.

“No. I’m fine. Just need some coffee.”

He was quiet after that. Elio bit his lip, and looked down at his menu too, not because he intended to order anything else but simply for something to do. It didn’t seem like Oliver wanted to talk, and Elio wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, how to be a good breakfast companion without being overbearing. His mind was already telling him Oliver regretted what had happened. He probably didn’t even remember the kiss, didn’t even remember kissing Elio. 

He had said it, after all - he’d had too much to drink.

Elio reached out for his cup of coffee, brought it to his lips, just to do something, even though there were only a couple of sips of cold drink left in it. He forced himself to look up, but not at Oliver - at the other guests of the hotel, sat at various tables for breakfast. All smiling, happily chatting to their friends. 

Elio swallowed, his heart beating fast in worry. 

Less than an hour later they’d finished their breakfast.

As they walked out of the room, Oliver was still quiet. 

Elio squeezed his hands into fists. He needed to say something, anything, if he wanted to at least try and see if Oliver still wished to spend time with him.

“So,” he breathed, cleared his throat. Started speaking fast. “Would you like to sight see some more, today? I can take you around - there’s the palace we haven’t seen yet, and to be honest I haven’t been yet either myself but we could catch a taxi there. Or we could go to the old part of the city, apparently there’s-“

“I want to go back to the beach.” Oliver interrupted him. “I’ve been told of a space, away from the crowds. It’s quiet, and relaxing, and private. It’s what I need today.   
And I’d like to have you with me. What do you say?”

Elio was speechless for a long moment. 

Oliver was looking into his eyes, and so Elio forced himself to return the gaze. Oliver wanted to spend time with him. Alone. 

Oliver asked him. Oliver did want to see him, still. 

After the initial surprise, Elio didn’t even need to think - and got ready to reply, though his voice didn’t seem to want to cooperate. 

“Yes, I -“ he started, cleared his throat again - god, it was so dry. “Yes. Yes, definitely. I’d love to go with you.”

“So it would just be you and him? _Voi due soli?”_ Mafalda said later, when Elio told her about where he planned to go. She’d come to his room, to check on him, and ask him to go to lunch with her and her friends. 

Elio looked at himself in the mirror, checked out the outfit he’d picked for the day - denim shorts and a shirt, over his swimming trunks. 

“Yeah. Just us two.” He didn’t look at her. 

Mafalda was quiet for a moment. From the corner of his eye Elio could see she was standing there, arms crossed, assessing him. 

“Not sure what you’d be doing. Alone on the beach.”

Elio swallowed. He kept his eyes on his reflection; brushed a curl back from his forehead, adjusted another behind his ear. 

“Just - sunbathe. Have a drink. Chat.” He sighed, and finally got ready to turn around and face Mafalda. “You said I should make connections, right? I am. I like spending time with Oliver. He’s interesting.”

He’d tried to be as clear and firm as he could, show how okay he was with the situation, how everything was fine. But he also knew Mafalda worried for him; and so he smiled, softened his eyes. 

“He’s a good friend to have,” he nodded, smiled again.

The corner of beach they’d walked to was indeed very quiet.

Oliver had said it was part of an area which could be rented or bought out for private use. He had a friend who owned a villa just by the beach - on a hill just above where they were - and who’d invited him to use his patch of sandy shore during his stay. 

Oliver much preferred a quiet spot, from where to watch the sea, listen to the waves. Relax in peace. 

Oliver seemed very at ease with his body. He’d thought nothing of stripping down to his trunks, lay down on a beach towel with a sigh. It was a nice day - warm, but with a gentle breeze which made the hot rays of sun much more pleasant on their skin. 

Elio had hesitated before taking his clothes off - but Oliver didn’t seem bothered, or like he’d make him feel self conscious, and so Elio undressed, lay down on his own towel, too. 

They’d made light conversation. Not much, though. They’d laid for a bit, in companionable silence. 

Yes, it was really nice. 

And when Elio spoke again, he felt he needed to say it. 

“I love this, Oliver,” he murmured, still laying down. He had his eyes closed, which made him feel a little braver. 

There was a moment of silence. Elio almost thought Oliver hadn’t heard him. 

“Us, you mean?”

_Us_.  Elio hadn’t thought of seeing it that way. 

But yes, of course, he couldn’t lie to himself. That patch of quiet, relaxing beach wouldn’t have been the same if Oliver weren’t there.

“It’s not bad.” Elio made a little joke, though he was saying the truth. “Not bad.”

The truth, anyway, was that he was still so incredibly excited, and on edge, at the fact that he was there with Oliver. Alone with Oliver, once again. 

Even Mafalda had been surprised - and Elio wasn’t stupid, he knew them spending time together, just them two, had made her think. Think of the motives behind it, behind Oliver asking him to spend time with him.

Elio couldn’t lie, either, about the fact that the thought that Oliver might be interested in him had come into his mind. Of course. After last night, after their kiss. Even though Oliver had been drunk, and had admitted that. 

Elio wanted to hope, didn’t want to delude himself, of course - but he did want to hope.

And now, he did feel a shift beside him. He didn’t open his eyes, so he couldn’t see, but he heard a gentle shuffling that certainly signified Oliver had moved, pulled up, maybe to sit. 

And then there was the feel of a hand. Of a finger - warm, the pad rough - moving slow; tracing Elio’s mouth.

Elio stayed very, very still. The finger kept moving, in a hypnotising slow motion. Stroking Elio’s upper lip, the arch and angles of his Cupid’s bow; and then the lower lip, the full, soft swell of it. 

Elio’s heart beat fast.

“You are very beautiful.”

Oliver’s voice, low, warm and soft, made Elio open his eyes.

Oliver was looking down at him, holding himself up with a hand next to Elio’s head.

And then he leant down, and kissed him. 

They kissed, for a long while. 

Oliver pushing gently down, opening Elio’s mouth with his. Letting their tongues stroke each other. 

Elio’s heart beat faster, and faster. But he let the sound of the waves, and Oliver’s breathing, lull him, soothe him. He followed Oliver’s lead. The way Oliver’s head moved to change the angle of the kiss, to make it deeper. The way he, slowly, got Elio used to the closeness, the way Elio’s body started to respond as if on its own, his skin tensing, all his senses wanting more. When Oliver ended the kiss, Elio wanted to chase his mouth, start it again.

But he stayed still, as still as possible, as Oliver looked at him. The man’s blue eyes scanned Elio’s body. Interested, careful. Moving from Elio’s mouth, to his jaw, his throat. His shoulder, the dip by his collar bone. The path from there down to his sternum, down to his abdomen, across the smooth skin of his chest. Down to his hips, covered by his swimming trunks.

Elio knew what was coming next, and he still waited, unmoving, his arms laying by his side on the beach towel.

Oliver’s hand followed the road his eyes had drawn. Moving from Elio’s mouth, down to his chin; his throat; his collarbone. And then his finger rested on Elio’s pec. Stroked the peak of his nipple, making it stiffen.

Elio tensed, bit his lower lip, though he didn’t bother to hide it. It felt good; he wanted Oliver to know.

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Oliver’s voice had gone even lower. Gravelly, like a soft growl. A purr. 

Elio lay very still, very very still, when Oliver leant down, kissed the nipple, and the skin around it. His lips stroking the tight flesh. Kissing, gently sucking. 

It felt so good, and it was the first time anyone had ever done that to him. Elio wanted to arch his back, ask for more, but he forced himself to stay still, just gently moaned low in his throat, almost in surprise at the feeling.

Oliver’s hand went back to its place, replacing his lips on Elio’s nipple - and the older man kissed Elio’s mouth again, even deeper, even more intensely than before.

And Elio was all instinct. His mind completely into overdrive, like it had never happened to him. He moved now, to place his hands on the sides of Oliver’s face, let the fingers of one of them sink into Oliver’s blond hair. 

He was breathing hard, wanted to moan all his pleasure, and he did when Oliver pinched his skin gently, his nipple.

Elio had never done any of this; but he wanted more, and more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some free time today... hope you enjoyed! Your comments keep me going xx


	7. Can’t stand the silence

And yet, when he felt Oliver’s hand slide down his side, down to his hip, Elio tensed.

Oliver’s voice was low, gently rough, as the older man spoke against his temple. 

“You’re shaking life a leaf.”

And it was true. He was. No matter how hard he’d tried to get out of his mind, Elio was well aware of the fact that he was out there, on a beach, half naked in the arms of an older man whom he’d known for a matter of days, and who wanted him, probably wanted to have sex.

Elio had thought he wanted it too. He did want it; but he’d never done anything like this, in his life. 

He’d kissed a couple of girls, playfully, yes. But things with Oliver were going so fast, now. And it seemed that while Elio’s mind had wanted it, pursued it, his body had different ideas.

“I’m sorry.” Elio felt he needed to apologise. 

He hadn’t wanted to show himself like that - as an immature, acerbic kid. 

Oliver was a well travelled, cultured man - why would he want to waste time with somebody like him?

And so, Oliver’s response surprised him. 

The older man pulled back, his face still serene. “It’s fine.” He brushed a curl away from Elio’s forehead. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No, I -“ Elio shook his head. He wanted it, of course he did. “I want to, I just. I don’t know. I’ve never.” He cleared his throat. God, he couldn’t even finish his sentences.

But Oliver still smiled.

“We’re going fast, I know. I apologise.”

He pulled further back, until he was sitting up, putting some distance between them and their beach towels. It made Elio bite his lip, instantly regretting having created a fuss.

He didn’t want Oliver to stop touching him.

“No, Oliver, I’m not - I want to. I’m not scared, or anything.”

Oliver smiled again, as if he wanted to reassure.

“Listen. Tell you what. Why don’t we walk back to the hotel. I have to meet someone for dinner, but - maybe, in the meantime, you can think. Think about this. Let me know what you want to do.”

He reached out; two fingers under Elio’s chin, he made him lift his face, up to look at him even from where they were sitting. His thumb stroked Elio’s lower lip, a gesture which Oliver seemed to be obsessed with.

“It’s up to you, kid.”

They hadn’t talked much as they walked back to the hotel. 

Oliver didn’t seem tense, or in a bad mood, though. Elio kept sneaking glances towards him, trying to read him, trying to read his body language. 

When they arrived back at the hall downstairs, Oliver had smiled at him. 

“Let’s talk later,” he’d said. And just like that, he was gone. 

Elio had to accompany Mafalda to the market for the rest of the afternoon.

It was probably a good thing. He felt like he was in turmoil. If not his heart, then his head was, for sure. He longed to spend time alone, maybe in his room, but he also knew that that would mean he would be thinking, overthinking, probably, overanalysing every moment of his morning with Oliver, repeating every word in his head and trying to discern its meaning. 

So, as much as he felt tired, and like he wanted to be alone - he was glad he didn’t have to be.

Not that it meant he didn’t think.

He didn’t know Oliver. The fact that he hadn’t seemed annoyed, or bored with him, or offended, didn’t have to correspond to reality. In fact, Oliver was still a big mystery for Elio. 

The whole fact that he’d kissed him, that he’d asked Elio to spend time alone, that he seemed to like Elio - that was a mystery.

And yet, all the same. Oliver had kissed him. He’d wanted to do more than kissing. He’d complimented him. He’d done all the things that people who were interested in other people did, as unbelievable as that was to Elio. 

But now, now he probably thought Elio wasn’t interested back. He probably thought Elio had just been playing around. 

Yes, Elio had told him he wanted him - well, that he wanted to - do more. But he wasn’t sure he’d said it properly. Convincingly. Oliver had asked him to think about it. He’d told him it was up to him.

And it was. Now it was up to Elio.

He didn’t want to lose Oliver. Lose him - could he really say that? They’d only known each other for a few days. He couldn’t say he had Oliver - he couldn’t say he had anything with him, could he?

But he didn’t want to lose what they were beginning to have. He didn’t want to lose what he wanted to have, with Oliver. 

He didn’t want them to not talk to each other, just like they’d done walking back from the beach. He liked talking to Oliver. 

_“Hai fame_?”

In all his thinking, Elio almost didn’t hear Mafalda talking to him.

“Elio? Are you hungry?”

He turned towards her. She was looking at him, interestedly, her wide hat pressed into her head as protection from the sun. 

Elio thought of being honest - he wasn’t hungry. But if he said he was, they could go back to the hotel; and Elio had something he needed to do there.

“Yeah. Yeah, actually I’m a little hungry.”

_ Can’t stand the silence. Need to talk to you.  _

Elio had thought about what to write. Agonised over it. Nothing seemed to sound right - everything sounded desperate, or excessive, or ridiculous. He crumpled several pieces of paper, until he settled on two short sentences, and forced himself to stuff the paper into the envelope he found in the cupboard in his room, and then forced himself to walk down to Reception, asked them to please deliver the letter to Oliver De Winter. 

He was just getting ready to go to dinner with Mafalda - now that he’d said he was hungry, she wouldn’t let him stay in his room, or even order room service, she wanted to make sure he ate - when his room phone rang. It was the Reception desk. There was a letter for him, from Oliver.

Elio went to pick it up, and opened it in his room, hands trembling in nervousness. 

_Grow up. See you at midnight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read and love all your comments. Please keep letting me know what you think!


	8. You can’t lie to me

“What’s going on with you.”

Elio had been fiddling with his fork and food on the plate ever since his salad had been brought by the waiter at the restaurant Mafalda had chosen for the night. He looked up, almost startled by her question. Frowned.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Mafalda stared at him, her lips pressed into a line, like she did when she thought Elio was being difficult. “Then why are you not talking at all? _Stai sempre zitto.”_

Elio looked away, held back an eye roll with difficulty. But he knew he was at fault. He really had been mostly quiet for the whole of the dinner, uninterested even though the food was really nice. As much as he felt like Mafalda was being too overbearing, he knew he himself was being unfair.

“I’m sorry.”

Mafalda sighed. 

“Eat up. Your mamma will yell at me if I bring you back even skinnier than you already are. You’re still growing.”

Elio bit his lower lip, and sighed as well. He looked at the clock on the wall not far from them. It was nearly 10 pm.

“Sorry. I’m just tired,” he said. Hopefully that would convince Mafalda he just wanted to go to sleep.

Of course, it wasn’t true that he was tired.

When they returned to the hotel, Elio made a show of going back to his room, for Mafalda’s benefit. He knew she was good at reading signs, he knew she always kept an eye on him - knew he’d gotten away with a lot already, just by way of the fact that Mafalda liked Oliver - or at least, the idea of him.

He waited until a few minutes before midnight. Then, quietly, he left his room, to head down to the main hall.

And there, smoking a cigarette just by the entrance, looking as handsome and dashing as Elio had ever seen him, was Oliver.

“Hey.” Oliver’s eyes were sparkling in the light of the street lamps outside, as Elio walked to him.

“Hey.”

“You alright?”

Elio swallowed. Looked outside, to the street and the sidewalk were a few late night revellers walked back to their lodgings.

He’d thought so much. About what he wanted, and about what Oliver had asked him to decide. He’d been in his mind the whole day, his body tense and full of worry, and full of want.

He knew what he wanted.

“Can we go to your room? Please?”

And when Oliver closed the door of his room behind them, Elio looked around, to the large, luxurious suite that was Oliver’s home in Montecarlo. It was dark in there, only the moonlight coming through the sheer curtains of the main window.

Slowly, Elio turned around. Oliver stood, in front of him; the moonlight illuminated his features, just faintly, but beautifully. His blue eyes seemed ethereal in that light. His body taut and sculpted where the moon caressed his curves and edges. 

Elio bit his lip; then, in two steps, he threw himself at Oliver, wrapped his arms around his neck, and kissed him. 

Elio had tried perhaps to imagine how he would have wanted his first time to go. 

But the truth was that he could have never imagined it to go this way. He could have never imagined it would be with a handsome, charming older man, who he wanted very much, and who wanted him just as much in return.

Elio knew that Oliver felt the same, because right now he was being held, in the soft silky sheets of Oliver’s bed, with Oliver on top of him, looking into his eyes. 

They were both naked, having wasted no time undressing - Elio taking clothes off both himself and Oliver with greed, to show Oliver how much he wanted this, how sure he was.

Oliver stroked curls off of Elio’s forehead. Kissed his chin. His nose. His mouth. Bit his lips gently, and Elio moaned, bucked up into Oliver’s hips with his own naked groin. 

It made Oliver sigh, and Elio liked how the older man’s eyes flashed, hungry and wanting and dangerous.

“You ready?”

Oliver’s voice sounded husky and rough, and Elio didn’t give himself time to overthink.

“Yes.”

It was painful, at first.

Elio grit his teeth, the first few thrusts. He could feel Oliver was being careful, gentle, but he also knew there was just one way to do this, he knew this had to happen.

It hurt at first, and Elio held onto Oliver, pressed his fingernails into his naked shoulders. Closed his eyes, when Oliver kissed his tears away. 

Oliver kissed him and Elio let himself go, let his body go, that feeling of tenderness and the fire in his loins that made him want to both push up and pull away, he tried to forget that and only remember the pleasure of Oliver’s kisses, the feel of Oliver inside him, how well they fit together. 

And then, when his body responded, time both stood still and went quick. Oliver fucked him fast, and deep, and then fast again, kissed his mouth and chin and cheek and throat and ear and then mouth again and then temple, whispering lewd and sweet things into his skin, his eyes closed, mind somewhere else. 

_You’re beautiful, you’re perfect, you’re mine. You feel so good. I love fucking you. I want to be in you for days, fuck, entire days and nights, just inside you, you feel so good. Say yes. Say yes to me._

_I love you_.

It was strange, at first, to feel Oliver coming inside him. 

Elio kept his eyes closed, listened to Oliver’s slowing breaths. He could feel Oliver’s come inside him, and also his own, between their bodies. 

He bit his lip when Oliver pulled back, theirbodies reluctant to part, now.

Elio felt so tired. He wanted to ask if it was normal to feel so tired, so sleepy, after sex. 

He wondered if Oliver was okay with him staying the night; he felt too exhausted to go back to his own room. 

But he felt Oliver kiss his forehead, and pull the bed sheet up both their bodies. He pressed Elio against himself, Elio’s lips and nose against Oliver’s chest.

It was warm, and comfortable, and Elio was asleep in seconds. 

“Hey. You awake?”

Elio snuffled at Oliver’s question, rubbing a hand over his eyes, smiling, shy.

“Are you hungry?” Oliver’s voice arrived clearer, now.

“Maybe.” A yawn. “I should probably go back to my room. Get changed. Go show my face with Mafalda, before she wonders where I am.”

A kiss to his forehead.

“Okay. Meet you downstairs, then?”

Elio nodded, and smiled, reaching out for another kiss. 

But what Elio didn’t know was that Mafalda was already in his room.

“Where were you.”

She stood, her arms tensely crossed on her chest, her eyes fixed on Elio, barely repressing her anger.

Though taken aback, Elio thought quickly. 

“I went for a walk.”

“ _Bugiardo_!” Mafalda raised her voice. “Do not lie to me! You didn’t come back to your room at all. Since last night! Where were you!”

Elio shook his head, opened his arms. “Nowhere. I was here!”

“Your bed is not even slept in!” Mafalda pointed at the bed with her hand, then to Elio. “I’ve seen you being born, _signorino_. You can’t lie to me, and yet you are trying!”

Elio sighed. Fuck. Of course Mafalda had figured out something was amiss. He knew there was no point in still trying to cover his tracks.

“I’m going down to breakfast, I have my swim lesson after.” He’d rather put distance between them right now.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Mafalda took a step towards him, crossed her arms back in front of her chest. “You think I’m stupid, _una scema_ , don’t you? You think I don’t know you were with that man?”

“I wasn’t-“

“Enough, Elio! Even Rita told me last night. They saw you. Gallivanting with Oliver De Winter, they saw you going to his room! It’s shameful. Shameful! He has a wife!”

“His wife is dead!”

It was the first time Elio acknowledged Oliver’s wife, since the day Mafalda herself had mentioned her. Doing that, now, made something squeeze in his chest, but his heart was beating fast already out of adrenaline and annoyance, and so he couldn’t keep quiet.

“He’ll ruin you!” Mafalda shouted. “He only wants one thing! Men like that don’t want anything else! He already had a wife.And you’re being naive, not listening to what I told you!”

“I’m not a child!” Elio raised his voice, too. He held his hands in fists by his sides, breathing hard. “I’m not an idiot! Stop telling me what to do, I know what I’m doing!”

Mafalda’s lips pursed together into an even thinner line.

“No, Elio. This is enough. I didn’t bring you here to do this - to shame yourself with strangers. Get your things ready. We’re leaving for Amsterdam today.”

“What? No!”

“Do as I say.”

Elio took a step back.

“No! I’m not going. Not now.”

“You don’t get to decide,” Mafalda put her hand out, a gesture to quieten him.

But Elio set his jaw.

“I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.”

“Elio. Basta. Do as I say.”

Elio squeezed his fists, his teeth gritting. Eyes already bright.

“No.”

He turned around, and fled his room, before Mafalda could say anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama!!! Xx


	9. She knows

“What is it?” Oliver asked as soon as he opened the door, and saw Elio, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “Elio, are you okay?”

“Can I come in?” Elio asked, frantic, his voice small. 

Oliver stood aside to let him in, and closed the door behind them.

“She knows,” Elio said, arms wrapped around himself, lips tensed in anxiety.

Oliver stepped closer. “Hey.” He cupped his hands around Elio’s cheeks, gently made him look up into his eyes. “Breathe. Tell me what happened.”

Elio closed his eyes for a moment. He was upset, but also angry, angry at Mafalda for not listening, for being so intransigent. And also angry at himself, because he was panicking, because he didn’t know what to do.

“Mafalda knows. About us. She waited for me in my room and told me she knows, that she’s - this woman saw us last night, and she knows I spent the night with you.”

Oliver set his jaw. “Did you deny it?”

“I did,” Elio brushed away a tear with the back of his hand, angrily. Oliver was still holding his face in his palms, and his thumb followed the path of Elio’s hand, drying the dampness under Elio’s eye. 

Elio held back a sob. 

“I denied it, but she wouldn’t listen. She said she’s taking me away.”

Oliver was quiet for a moment, watching Elio trying to breathe through his upset.

“What do you mean.”

“Her plan after Montecarlo was to travel to Amsterdam, in five days. But she said we have to go today. She wants me to pack my stuff. She won’t hear reason.”

Elio blinked. He felt so tense. He looked at Oliver, who was looking back at him, frowning, clearly angry, but with something else behind his eyes. He let Elio go; sighed, turned around, his back to Elio.

And Elio swallowed, his anxiety growing. 

It wasn’t like he could expect Oliver to run to his rescue. They’d known each other for a matter of days, and now Elio had already unloaded his family drama on him, involved him in a situation Oliver didn’t need to care about. Elio was young, but not stupid - he knew that older, handsome men weren’t usually looking for a commitment, and certainly not that early in a relationship.

Elio brushed away another tear, and waited for Oliver to speak. He’d been stupid, and if Oliver told him to go back to Mafalda, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Oliver turned around to look at him.

“She will hear reason. When I speak to her. When I tell her that she can’t take you away from me, because I want to marry you.”

And Elio found himself shaking like a leaf for the second time that day, when they walked together to Mafalda’s room. He almost hid behind Oliver, as the older man knocked on the door, tall and sure and confident as ever.

Mafalda came to open in a matter of seconds. She was clearly expecting it to be Elio, perhaps repenting and having changed his mind like he often did, or still set on continuing what she saw as a childish tantrum. But when she saw Oliver instead - her face changed into an expression of surprise.

“Mister De Winter,” she said, and Elio could tell she was fighting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Her eyes fell on Elio, standing beside Oliver, teeth biting into his lower lip. She was certainly not surprised to see them together.

“Good morning, Mrs Manfredi. May I speak to you for a moment?”

Mafalda looked to him; then to Elio. 

Elio knew she was tempted to tell him that whatever he had to say, he could tell her right there, and once he’d given Elio back to her, thank you very much - but she would never do that, would never sound that rude in front of someone like Oliver De Winter.

And as Elio knew she would, Mafalda stepped aside, let Oliver and Elio in.

“I don’t have much time, I’m afraid,” she said. As much as she would never appear rude, she made sure her voice was stern. “I’m leaving this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I won’t inconvenience you for too long,” Oliver didn’t miss a beat. “I am leaving, too, today. I’m travelling to my new estate, in New England. To get married.”

Mafalda’s eyes gleamed. Elio knew her too well not to see the glint of both anger and triumph in her expression. She was certainly thinking that she’d been right, yet again, but of course she was angry that Oliver had proven himself to be a vile person, dishonouring a young boy like Elio just for his own benefit. 

“Congratulations,” she said, smiled a forced smile. “That’s wonderful news. Elio and I would celebrate with you, but like I said. We’re leaving soon.” She turned to Elio, reached out with her hand to beckon him to her from where he was still standing next to Oliver. “Come on, Elio. Pack your stuff, hurry up.”

Before Elio could move a muscle, Oliver spoke again.

“Elio won’t be able to go with you, Ma’am,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “Because - he’s my fiancé. He’s the person I am to marry. I’m taking him with me.”

There was a long moment of silence after Oliver’s words. A moment in which Elio didn’t think he could make himself even breathe. He set his jaw, tried to calm the beats of his heart. Told himself that Oliver was beside him. That Oliver wanted to marry him.

When Mafalda spoke, she looked straight into his eyes.

“Elio. Is this true?” Her voice was quiet. “You want to marry Mister De Winter?”

Elio had to clear his throat. 

“Yes.” He tried again, with more confidence, because yes, this is what he wanted to do. Oliver wanted to marry him, and Elio wanted to marry Oliver. “Yes, Mafalda. I want to marry Oliver.”

Mafalda was quiet once again. Her eyes, betraying no emotion, looked from Elio to Oliver.

“If this is what you want to do,” she said. “If this is the life you’ve chosen. Who am I to stand in your way.”

It had been shocking to hear Mafalda’s words. Her acquiescence. But also, it hadn’t. 

Elio knew how important it was to her that he found a good partner in life. She’d always said that - to him, to his cousins, boys and girls. Marrying well was half the battle towards living a comfortable life.

And few families were better than the De Winters, when it came to living comfortably. By marrying Oliver, Elio would join in his wealthy, glamorous, globetrotting existence. Mafalda would have never lived with herself if she had scuppered such a lucky occurrence for Elio. 

Not to mention the fact that, in her eyes, Elio had already ruined his reputation by spending the night with Oliver as an unmarried young man. By marrying him, Oliver would restore his name, and hopefully the word that Elio had met with a man before marriage would be silenced by the much more important news that he was marrying Oliver De Winter, and becoming someone to envy, someone to admire.

Oliver had left him in his room to pack his stuff before they both left to travel to New England, in America. They were to stop in Italy, to see Elio’s parents, to formally announce their engagement - Elio had called them to let them know.

And while he gathered his stuff, Elio thought. His heart still skipping beats here and there. He was excited, and scared.

And he nearly jumped when he heard a knock on the door. 

He went to open; Mafalda was there. 

She came into his room, quiet.

“Are you almost ready?”

Elio looked to his luggage, almost full. He kept his gaze low.

“Yeah. I - I didn’t know he wanted to leave today.” He was being sincere. But, he guessed - the sooner, the better.

He heard Mafalda sigh. Then, she stepped closer; reached out with her small hand, made him lift his face to look at her.

“My child.” Her eyes seemed calm. And so was her voice. Almost sad. “You know I admire Oliver De Winter. I think anyone marrying him would be very lucky indeed. Life is hard enough, even without having to struggle to eat and pay the bills.”

Elio understood. He knew this was what she thought.

“So I can’t find it in me to stop you, or try and persuade you to change your mind. I can’t ruin this opportunity for you. It would be no good. And it seems like you really like him.” She stroked a wild curl behind Elio’s ear, in her rough, yet loving way. “But, piccolino. You’re so young. At your age, love is wild. Takes over everything. So I want you to - be careful. Watch out. Oliver has a good name. But you never know what hides behind someone. What you see may not be what really is.” She sighed. “Look after yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhhh!!! So what do we think??


	10. Not Enough

The next time Elio heard a knock on his door, he went to open without thinking much of it, imagining perhaps it was Mafalda come back to say something else, or having changed her mind - he was still on edge about that.

But instead, his eyes widened when he saw it was Oliver. Tall, and handsome, standing in front of him, his cobalt eyes shining.

“H-hi,” Elio babbled, feeling his heartbeats immediately quicken.

“Hey. May I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Elio nodded, stepped aside to let him in. He closed the door, looked to his room, to the mess it was in - to the fact that it was much smaller than the one Oliver was staying in, which was one of the best suites at the hotel. 

Elio’s cheeks flushed up in embarrassment, but he let Oliver take his hands, smiled, pleased, when the older man kissed the back of one of them.

“I’m so happy, my love. I’m so happy that we are getting married,” Oliver said, still smiling. “I can’t wait to start our life together.”

Elio smiled, too, sincere. His heart skipping another beat. “Me, too.”

“Good.” Oliver brought Elio’s hand to his mouth again, kissed the back of it. “I have something for you.”

He reached into his shirt pocket, brought out a small box. He opened it, and Elio’s eyes widened out even more, his heart jumping, when Oliver dropped down onto one knee, looking up at him with the biggest smile Elio had seen on his face so far.

“Will you marry me, Elio Perlman?”

And Elio had never thought he’d be proposed to that way, he’d never thought he’d be proposed to at all, and he felt like the most cliche of characters in romance novels when he found he could only whisper a weak ‘yes’, before he gave his hand to Oliver for him to put the ring on his finger. A ring that was simple, but beautiful; Elio almost swallowed, disbelieving. 

“Where - where did you get this?”

“I went out an hour ago to buy it. I asked the hotel for advice on who the best jeweller was in Montecarlo.”

Oliver seemed almost bashful as he admitted to his crazy feat. And Elio felt overwhelmed, in a good way, and could not stop himself from stepping closer, pushing up onto his tip toes, and kissing Oliver.

And the kiss turned passionate in a matter of seconds.

Oliver grasped Elio’s face in his hands, kissed him deeper, pushing him back towards the bed. Elio sobbed in his mouth, almost stumbled as he tried to walk backwards and yet not break the kiss - Oliver wrapped his arms around his backside and picked him up, encouraging him to circle his legs around Oliver’s waist.

Then Oliver put him down on the bed, and unbuttoned his trousers, with frantic movements, pulling them down, doing the same to himself. “Shhhh,” he murmured into the side of Elio’s throat, when the boy cried out, arched his back as Oliver pushed into him. 

It was slow, and fast at the same time, and soon they were both breathing hard, moaning. Elio loved it, and even though this was only the second time they did this, he’d already realised Oliver liked to know that Elio was enjoying it, enjoying himself. He pushed past his introversion and let himself go, as much as he could. He knew Oliver’s strong hands on his hips were going to leave red marks on his pale skin; he knew he’d probably left light scratches on Oliver’s biceps, where his fingernails had clung to after each hard thrust. Elio hoped Oliver didn’t mind. 

He came when Oliver wasn’t even done yet, Oliver touching him expertly and bringing him to orgasm. And his own pleasure seemed to continue, even through Oliver’s final thrusts, as if he could come again, as if he couldn’t stop coming.

Elio didn’t realise he had nodded off, until he blinked, opened his eyes, noticed he’d been asleep. 

He was still naked on his bed, only covered by a light sheet. As he came back to full consciousness, he thought he could hear Oliver’s voice, on the phone.

Elio rubbed a hand over his eyes, and then pulled himself up to sitting, the bed sheet covering him from the waist down. He tried to comb down his wild curls with a hand. He looked up at Oliver, as the older man walked back to the bed, having finished his call. 

The sight of his full suitcase on the floor by the bed made Elio remember what they were meant to do.

“Oh my god,” he bit his lower lip, his eyes widening as he looked at Oliver. “I’m sorry, Oliver, we - aren’t we meant to leave soon for the airport, I - I’m so sorry I fell asleep.”

But Oliver smiled, sat on the edge of the bed, bending over to kiss Elio’s swollen red lips.

“No, it’s all good. There’s no rush. We still have a couple of hours before we need to go,” he said, and his voice was calm. “We will only be able to stay in Italy for a day. We need to go to England, before we leave for Pittsburgh.”

Elio frowned. “England?”

“I have a matter to sort at my estate in Cornwall. It’s called Manderley, it’s where I lived with my uncle. It will be quick, and once done, we’ll leave for America.”

“A matter?” Elio tilted his head, genuinely curious.

“Nothing to worry about.” Oliver kissed his mouth again. His thumb lingered on Elio’s lower lip, Oliver’s eyes fixed on it, too. “I’ve just called down to reception. I’ve ordered us some food. We need to celebrate, right? Celebrate the ring on your finger. Celebrate that you’ve agreed to be mine.”

Elio smiled, nodded slowly. He was still curious, but he figured Oliver had a lot of matters to see to, with his work, with his status, and not a lot of them would be something Elio had any experience of or could pretend to understand. 

Plus, he felt quite hungry. He hadn’t had breakfast, and that, coupled with the excitement and events of the day, was making his stomach clench, wanting food.

He wrapped his arm around Oliver’s neck when the older man reached over, and kissed him - his cheek, his jaw, his throat.

“You were wonderful,” Oliver murmured against his skin. “Just now, letting me make love to you. I can’t wait to have you all for me, when we go to America.” 

His voice, low and rough, made Elio shiver. He forgot all about matters to sort, England, Mafalda, and even the food, as he gave his lips for Oliver to kiss again, as he lay back down on the bed, pulling Oliver on himself, not being able to have enough of him, either. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment, tell me what you think..... ;) x


	11. Manderley

“Stop. Stop, stop.”

Holding him in his arms, from behind, Oliver stopped moving. His mouth was pressed into the side of Elio’s neck, and he rubbed his nose into his skin, his muscly arms securely wrapped around the boy’s smaller torso.

“You okay?”

Still with his eyes closed, Elio nodded. 

“Yeah. Just - want to feel you.” He took a breath, focussing on the sensation of Oliver holding still deep inside him. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?” Oliver’s voice was huskier now. He liked to talk, during sex, whisper praise and compliments and encouragements, Elio had noticed. 

And Elio liked listening to him, hearing the words. He still couldn’t believe he was the one making Oliver feel that way, making him feel good with his body. 

He wanted to be move vocal too, he knew Oliver liked to hear him, Oliver asked him and prompted him, sometimes, too. Elio wanted to be more vocal but he was still so self conscious, felt very shy, still. And so he didn’t speak as much - but this time, he tried.

He felt Oliver, behind him as they both knelt on the bed, press further in, holding him tight in his arms, the thick hair on Oliver’s chest wispy against the smooth skin of Elio’s back. Oliver pressed further in and Elio felt as if he was being split wider, but it didn’t hurt. He felt full, he felt complete.

“Push back against me a little bit,” Oliver murmured in his ear. Elio couldn’t see him, but could feel he had his eyes closed too. He obeyed. Oliver spoke again, voice low. “A little bit more.”

Oliver was completely inside him. The whole of him, even though Elio could have never thought it would happen. He was pressing firmly against something in Elio’s belly that made his heart beat fast, made his breath hitch, almost made him light headed. He was trembling, but also wanted to press back even harder. For Oliver to go even deeper. 

Oliver’s hand stroked up to his lips, and Elio opened his mouth obediently, let Oliver put his index and middle fingers inside, stroked them with his tongue, sucked on them, as Oliver resumed moving, and Elio wished he could put those fingers inside him too. 

“Your skin is so pale.” Oliver was whispering, later, as they lay in bed, Oliver propped up on his elbow to look at Elio. “So white.”

Elio liked to be watched by Oliver. He kept his eyes closed, imagined Oliver’s eyes on his naked body, moving from his head to his feet, slowly, and then back up again.

“I wish I could mark it with my teeth.” Oliver stroked a small circle of skin on Elio’s throat. “Right here. Leave a nice little bruise.”

Elio opened his eyes. Swallowed. He’d never had anyone do that before, of course. “Will it hurt?” He asked, breathless. He felt like it was a stupid question to ask, but he didn’t know what to say.

Oliver leant over him, smiled. “No.” He kissed Elio’s lips. “But not now. Maybe after we’ve seen your parents.”

Elio’s parents were as pleasant to Oliver as they always were, to all of their guests.

Elio and Oliver were only going to stay for a night, before they left for England. Oliver did say they would be seeing them again at their wedding, of course.

Elio’s mom, Annella, asked Elio to go and sit on the terrace with her that night, while Oliver and Elio’s father conversed in the living room.

Sat side by side, a citronella candle perfuming the air of lemon and mint, Annella reached out, cupped Elio’s cheek with her hand.

“You know I support you, my darling,” she said, and in the nighttime light, her lips were pressed into a thin smile. “But are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Elio blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

She held his eyes for a long moment. 

“He seems like a nice man. But you’re only seventeen. I want to know this is your choice, and that he treats you right. You’ve met him only a few days ago.”

“He treats me nice. He’s great, mom. He looks after me from every.... under every aspect,” he said, blushed a little. He hadn’t known much about sex until a few days ago, and now, he almost couldn’t do without. “I’m happy, and I want to do this. Mafalda always says that a good marriage is important in life, and I know I won’t have to make do with someone I don’t like just because they are well off. I love Oliver.”

He’d spoken almost in one breath, but he hoped he’d gotten his message across. He was absolutely sure. He couldn’t wait to be married to Oliver. 

And Annella looked at him for a little longer, her dark eyes considering; then, her lips stretched into a smile.

“Just promise you’ll be careful, piccino.” She stroked curls off his forehead. “We will always be here if you need us.”

Then the moment arrived. The one Elio had been so curious about. Dreaming about, anxious about. 

The moment he finally saw Manderley.

The trip had been long, and tiring. First on a plane, then a train, then a car; Elio was quite exhausted by the time they arrived. He was nervous. He knew Manderley meant meeting a lot of new people - all related to Oliver in some way, or working for him, all people Oliver already knew and Elio didn’t. Elio wondered what they would think of him, of him joining the family. Of him becoming Oliver’s husband.

Oliver held Elio against himself, his arm around the boy’s shoulders, once they climbed out of the car. 

“Everybody will love you, don’t worry,” he said, speaking against Elio’s temple, his breath warming Elio’s skin. 

And Elio looked up at Oliver; then followed his gaze, towards the large, iron cast door a few feet from them, the main entrance to Manderley.

He took a deep breath, and got ready. 


	12. The room

The large door to the mansion seemed to open on its own accord. 

Elio knew that wasn’t the case, of course. But nonetheless, he looked around, as the interior of the villa was revealed bit by bit in front of his eyes.

Oliver held his hand and led him through the entrance. The foyer that awaited them had high ceilings; ornate walls, a crystal chandelier. A huge, expensive carpet covered the marble floor, and muted the sound of their steps. 

Elio only had the time to look around for a few moments, before his eye was caught by the movements of two men, dressed in a white uniform, rushing to their car, picking up their luggage. When he turned back around, a woman and a man were standing a few feet from them. 

The man was tall, slim-built. He was also wearing a uniform, though not the same as the other two members of the help that Elio had already seen, dark blue this time. He seemed older, though not much older than Oliver perhaps.

But the eyes of the woman next to this man were what really threw Elio. 

They were black; piercing. They were fixed on Elio, staring, impassively and yet searching.  
She stood next to the man, her expression serious, dark hair tight in a bun on top of her head. Arms crossed on her chest, on the blue velvet of the breast of her long dress.

“This is Elio.” Oliver’s voice almost made Elio startle. He turned towards his future husband, and Oliver’s eyes were blue, calm. Seemed happy, and not nervous at all. And so Elio breathed, and steeled himself. There was no need to be nervous. 

“Elio, meet Mrs Danvers. She’s our housekeeper. She runs Manderley.”

Elio looked to the woman. Her eyes were still fixed on him, but she didn’t seem to acknowledge Oliver’s words, or to give Elio a way to greet her, to want to introduce herself. He was glad when Oliver moved on to introducing him to his other new acquaintance. 

“And this is Mister Fielding. Our butler.”

“Call me Edward,” Mister Fielding said, with a small smile. “Very nice to meet you, Elio.” He seemed rather more friendly than the woman, at least for now, and so Elio made himself smile back politely. 

He felt like he’d forgotten all his manners, but he did want to say something back. 

“It’s a very big house,” he said, almost without thinking. 

It prompted a chuckle, from both Edward and Oliver. The woman kept silent. 

“You will certainly enjoy it,” Edward said. Then, he turned to Oliver. “Master Oliver, I’ll have to remind you that your uncle is expecting you urgently in his study. If you may.”

“Ah, yes,” Oliver said. He’d let go of Elio’s hand, and didn’t seem surprised at Edward’s words. It must have been something already planned, though he hadn’t mentioned to Elio - and something he didn’t seem too happy about given the way his jaw tensed lightly. 

He turned to Elio. 

“I have an urgent matter to see to, my love. But Mrs Danvers will show you the house and the room. You can get refreshed and rest if you want.”

Elio would have wanted to say something. Was Oliver leaving him alone with these people he’d just met? 

But he didn’t have the time. Oliver leant towards him, kissed him on the lips quickly, and a moment later he was already heading towards the other side of the immense foyer, disappearing behind a door at the other end of the hall. 

“Edward, please make sure that Young Master Elio’s things are brought to his room promptly.”

Mrs Danvers’s voice made Elio turn back towards her. He saw Edward just nod, and leave too, probably to give directions to the two other members of the help who had been handling their luggage. 

Elio wondered if he was meant to go with him; but Mrs Danvers spoke again.

“No no. You follow me, please. I’ll take you to your room.” 

Mrs Danvers led Elio up the large, majestic stairs that opened from the foyer, branching out into opposite directions at the top, into two separate hallways with walls painted in golden hues. 

There was luxury everywhere, and yet the house didn’t appear stuffy, or old, its style very much up to date with the trends of the time. 

Elio listened to the sound of their footsteps - Mrs Danvers’s sharp from her heels, Elio’s more muted - as he followed the woman into another hallway, this one darker. The wall lamps lit up the walls and ceiling with a soft amber hue. There were paintings everywhere, and black and white photographs, of people Elio obviously didn’t know. Several of the photos featured a tall, slim, elegant woman. A few had Oliver. 

Elio wanted to ask, but he didn’t feel like he could yet, he didn’t know Mrs Danvers and perhaps he would appear nosy. He would wait, and ask Oliver. 

“You have a very beautiful place, here,” Elio said instead, and he believed it. The house was really impressive. 

“Thank you,” Mrs Denvers said. Then stopped, in front of a door, wooden, mahogany like all the others. “This will be your room. We have it ready for you.” She leant over, and opened the door for him. 

Elio blinked. He peeked inside, from where he was, not brave enough to step in yet, fearful of being rude. “Thank you.”

“You will be called for dinner when it’s ready. In the meantime, you should rest,” the woman said. Her voice had a very firm, impassible tone. She didn’t smile once, her lips tight into a thin line. 

Elio stepped into the entrance. It was a very large room, with a double bed, his luggage sat on a stool next to it. 

Only his, though. 

“Will Oliver meet me here?” Elio asked. 

“Master Oliver will be in his room after he’s concluded his affairs in the study. You will see him at dinner.”

In his room? He and Oliver were staying in different places?

“Wait - “ Elio turned around, raised his voice just a little, as Mrs Danvers had already begun to walk away. “I thought - we can sleep in the same room.”

Mrs Danvers stopped. She fixed her black eyes onto him. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t married yet. You can’t possibly stay in the marital room, it would be unbecoming. Only his wife used it, along with Master Oliver, as it is right to do.” Her voice was even firmer, even more cutting than earlier. 

His eyes wide, Elio looked at her, trying to process what he had just been told. 

“Now hurry. Unless you want to spend your time standing on the door for some funny reason.”

With that, Mrs Danvers turned back around, and walked away, her heels clacking on the floor in the silence of the house. 

Elio was relieved when he heard a knock on the door a couple of hours later. 

He hadn’t known what to do, was afraid to step out, possibly get lost in that huge house. Was nervous he’d meet Mrs Danvers again, and would have to explain why he got lost in the first place. 

So he lay on the bed for a while. Then went through his luggage; pulled out his books, tried to read a few pages. 

The knock made him jump up, and he ran to the door, opened it to find Oliver on the other side. 

“Hey.” The older man was smiling. Without waiting to be let in, he stepped inside, closed the door behind him. Took Elio’s face into his hands and kissed his mouth. “I missed you.”

Elio kissed back, breathing out a relieved sigh. Things seemed more normal now. 

“I missed you too.”

“Are you all settled?” Oliver asked, looking into his eyes, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. 

“I - yeah. I’ve got all my things here.”

Oliver smiled wider. “Good.”

Elio bit his lower lip. “Are you done with what you needed to do?”

“I wish,” Oliver chuckled. But his eyes didn’t shine, stayed serious. “Not at all, unfortunately. It’ll be a little while yet.”

Elio nodded. He wanted to ask what is it that he was doing; he wasn’t sure if this was the moment. They were both tired. 

“But I’m glad you’re all settled.” Oliver stroked his cheeks again. His voice lowered. “You look so beautiful. Even more than before. My god.”

Elio felt himself flush up in pleasure at the compliment. Before he could say anything - not that he knew what to say - Oliver pulled him closer, and kissed him again, pushing in and gently prying his lips open to deepen the kiss. 

He tasted and smelled good - warm, familiar, of tobacco and whisky. It was immediately intoxicating, and Elio kissed back, let the kiss go on for a while. But when Oliver’s hand slid down from his cheek to his chest, to the rim of his shirt, Elio pulled back. 

“Wait, I - I have something to ask you,” he said, his voice quiet, breath a little faster. 

“Mhh. What.” Oliver moved to kiss his throat, pulling the collar of Elio’s shirt aside to kiss the naked skin there. 

“Mrs Danvers said this is my room. And that you’ll sleep in a different room. Because we aren’t married. Is this true?”

Lips pressed to Elio’s shoulder, his arms now around Elio’s body, Oliver didn’t look up. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I don’t understand,” Elio tried again. He was confused. Did she really think they hadn’t slept together because they weren’t married yet?

Finally, Oliver looked up. His eyes were soft; but dark. Like they became when they were together, making love. 

“She’s just - traditional. Don’t worry about her. We’ll do what we want, I’ve always done it. Let her think we’re staying in different rooms if she wants to.” His hands slid down to Elio’s backside, slowly. Squeezed. “Do you really think I’m not going to make love to you, the whole time we’re here?”

Elio swallowed. He could already feel his body responding to Oliver’s touch. And if he were to be honest, he really wanted to be with Oliver. In his arms. It had been a long and stressful day. 

When Oliver started undressing him, he didn’t protest; when Oliver pushed him back towards the bed, he went happily. 

He lay back, letting Oliver kiss his chest, his nipples, his belly and his hipbones. When the older man pulled himself back up, kissing his neck again, two of his fingers pushing into Elio, Elio arched his back, giving himself over completely, feeling Oliver’s teeth on the skin of his throat, the sharp sting of it. Crying out at the pain of Oliver possessing his body that way, making him writhe and grasp at his back with his fingers, making him feel so, so good. 

“I love you,” Oliver murmured on his mouth, a little later, pushing into him. “You’re gorgeous and I love you.”

“I love you too,” Elio said back, his eyes closed, body weak from his first orgasm already. He held his fingers into Oliver’s hair, let him find his own release inside his body, feeling better because they were here, and side by side. 


	13. The next day

After dinner, Oliver walked with Elio back to the wing of the mansion where the bedrooms where. Or so Elio imagined - he imagined Oliver’s room, the one Mrs Danvers had called the ‘marital room’, must be in that part of the house too, though he didn’t know, he hadn’t seen it. 

He felt tired. Dinner had been a quiet affair, downstairs in the dining hall - just him and Oliver. Mrs Danvers was nowhere to be seen; and Elio hadn’t minded, at all. She was intimidating. And he felt too exhausted to deal with that.

When they got to Elio’s room, Oliver smiled.

“Mind if I stay here, too?”

Elio stepped aside, letting Oliver in, and closed the door behind them, smiling as well. 

“No. Of course not. I was hoping you’d say that.” He walked to the bed, sat on the edge of it. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

He watched Oliver smile again. Then he walked over too, leant down to kiss Elio on the mouth, and nudged him down to lay on the bed, kissing his lips still in gentle pecks, until he was, too, laying down, side by side with Elio, and they were facing each other.

Elio sighed, exhausted, but content. He placed his hand on Oliver’s cheek.

“Where is your room, anyway,” he asked. 

Oliver looked tired, too. It was the first time Elio saw him actually looking sleepy. 

“Not far from here.”

Elio was curious. So curious. He didn’t know much about this new house, only that it was the biggest he’d ever seen, almost as big as the hotel they were staying at in Montecarlo, the one where they’d met. He wondered what this ‘marital room’ looked like. 

“Is it much different than this one?”

“No.” Oliver kissed his palm. “Let’s sleep, now. It’s been a long day.”

With that, he turned to lay on his back, supine, started to unbutton his shirt and his trousers. Elio looked at him. He must be really tired. He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes for a moment - feeling the softness of the pillowcase against his cheek, the texture of the velvety blanket over the bedsheet. 

Then, he undressed, smiling when Oliver held the blanket up for him to slide under, turned off the lamp on the side table, and took him into his arms. 

_I hope you slept well. You looked like an angel._

_Get dressed, come down to breakfast when you’re ready. See you in the dining hall._

_Oliver_

Elio held the handwritten note in his hand, read it twice, in the light of the morning that filtered through the curtains.

It took him a few moments to remember where he was. What had happened. 

He blinked again, and looked around himself. The room seemed different to how it had appeared the day before, now that it was daytime. The walls seemed lighter, of a softer cream tone. He wondered what time it was, and if he had overslept.

The note was left on the nightstand, and Oliver’s side of the bed was empty, no longer warm.

Elio got up; padded to the en suite bathroom, washed and got dressed. He wanted to find Oliver; start the day.

The hallway was still dark just as it had been the day before, and Elio closed the door to his room quietly behind himself, and walked slowly along the hallway, trying to remember the path to the stairs that led down to the foyer, and then to the dining hall. It all seemed different now, somehow. He hadn’t paid enough attention yesterday, overwhelmed as he had been by everything that was happening.

“Good morning, young master Elio.”

Elio startled a little at the greeting. He turned towards the voice, coming from the side - it was Edward, the butler he’d met yesterday. 

“Oh. Hi - I mean, good morning, Edward.”

“May I help you at all, master Elio?”

Elio took a breath. “I - yes, actually. I would like to go to the dining hall.”

“Oh, I can show you,” Edward said, smiled wide. “Here, this way.”

He seemed just as friendly as he had been yesterday when they’d arrived, and Elio sighed in relief.

“Please, just call me Elio,” he said. Edward’s eyes went wide for a moment, but then he smiled again.

“Of course, as you wish. Did you have a good night’s sleep, Elio?”

Elio felt immediately more at ease. Now it was as if they were proper acquaintances, and not master and servant.

“Yes, I did, thank you Edward.” He hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should mention that Oliver was with him, if he should be careful not to give it away. He still thought it was a strange thing, to have to pretend for Mrs Danvers’s benefit. It wasn’t like Oliver was still married, or anything awful like that.

So, he didn’t mention. He told himself he would check with Oliver later. Maybe plead his case once again with him, tell him again how it didn’t make sense for them to have to lie. Surely Mrs Danvers would understand, right? Surely they didn’t owe her anything, could make their own decisions?

They weren’t married, but there no longer was a Mrs De Winter there in the house, to sleep in Oliver’s room as his wife.

Without thinking, and full of curiosity, Elio spoke as they kept walking.

“How was Oliver’s wife? Elise, that was her name, right?”

Edward turned towards him, his eyes wide.

“Yes. It was indeed.”

Elio waited, but it didn’t seem like Edward was going to answer his question.

“I think I’ve seen her in one of the photographs, here,” he continued, pressing gently. “It seems like she was very beloved.”

Edward cleared his throat quietly, then replied.

“She was indeed, young master Elio.” It seemed he had forgotten what Elio had asked, regarding his name. He seemed nervous. “We’re here. Let me open the door for you.”

He did so, with a smile, but no other words for Elio. And the boy swallowed, then took a breath, making himself give Edward a smile in return.

“Thank you Edward.”

The butler bowed lightly. “My pleasure.” And with that, he left.

Luckily, Elio hadn’t been very late for breakfast. 

It was still arranged, plates and cutlery and fresh bread, honey and conserves, ham and cheese, neatly on a plate that was just waiting for him.

He was led to it by a server, who brought him orange juice and coffee, much like when he was back at the hotel. And someone must have let Oliver know that Elio was down at breakfast, because the older man appeared a couple of minutes later, walking towards Elio with a smile. 

“Hey, beautiful,” Oliver greeted, bending down to give him a kiss, and Elio looked up and offered his mouth to be kissed. Oliver was wearing a blue suit, looked so dashing, and Elio smiled, his heart full.

“Hey.”

“Did you sleep well?” Oliver sat down next to him. He seemed perky, full of energy. “You look well rested.”

Elio smiled, then reached for his orange juice, taking a sip. “Yeah, thanks. I feel better today.” He reached out to wrap his fingers around Oliver’s hand on the table. “And I always sleep well next to you,” he added, a little quieter.

“Good. I’d like to go for a walk into town today with you, if you’re up for it?”

Elio smiled. He’d been worried that Oliver would have more to do in his study, like the day before, and his suggestion to spend time together was a relief. 

“I’d love to,” he said, nodding, squeezing Oliver’s hand with his.

Elio went back up to his room to get changed and to wear something more apt to step outside. The air was chilly that morning, it must have rained overnight. 

When he came back downstairs, Oliver wasn’t there yet - but Mrs Danvers was.

She looked at him intently, as he walked down the last few steps and then across the foyer to wait for Oliver by the entrance. 

Mrs Danvers didn’t take her eyes off him; her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked disapproving, and when Elio stood, she took two step towards him, her hand shooting up to grasp the collar of his shirt, fixing it with firm movements.

“You’re going to Port Isaac,” she said, her voice quiet. “You need to be well dressed.”

Elio frowned. He wanted to take a step back, instinctively not wanting her too close - but he knew he couldn’t. He made himself change his expression into a neutral one, although he was still wondering what she meant - he thought he’d worn something appropriate.

“And I hope you ate something at breakfast. You’re too thin. You need to put some meat on on these bones. You don’t want people to think Oliver doesn’t feed you.”

Her tone was that scolding. Reproachful. She didn’t sound worried for him - just disapproving. Elio cleared his throat, confused, not knowing what to say.

Luckily though, Oliver appeared right at that moment. Heading down the stairs, smiling, he looked radiant, and Elio choose to forget about Mrs Danvers, and look forward to his day out with his future husband. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave me a comment if you are reading!


	14. Port Isaac

“It’s quite different from Montecarlo. Or Italy. Isn’t it,” Oliver said, as they walked along the beach. The village was small, a fishing port for the whole of Cornwall, but lovely - and Elio smiled. Oliver was holding his hand, and Elio felt warm.

“It’s different, but it’s nice,” he said, squeezing Oliver’s fingers playfully. He spotted a bench, and nodded towards it. “Can we sit for a few minutes?”

Sat side by side with Oliver, Elio let the sound of the waves crashing into the shore lull him for a moment. 

Oliver was quiet too, and Elio took a deep breath, preparing himself to ask what he’d been dying to know for days now.

He was nervous, of course. Weirdly, he’d only just realised that Oliver might not even know that Elio was aware he’d had a wife.

“I’ve - I’ve seen many photos, in the house,” Elio started. He looked down at the bench, at Oliver’s hand resting there. He reached with his own hand, placed his fingers over Oliver’s. “Are they of your family?”

Oliver looked at him, his blue eyes glimmering with amusement. It must seem like such a peculiarly specific question. 

He nodded. “Some of them.”

“And the lady in some of them,” Elio said. He kept his voice soft; he wasn’t sure how to thread this. “Who’s that?”

“There’s many ladies in the photos,” Oliver chuckled. He was looking ahead of him though, not towards Elio. 

Elio felt like he knew exactly what Elio was asking, and was stalling. But Elio was in the middle of it now; he couldn’t drop it.

“The one in the green dress. With the emerald pearls in her hair. In the photo down in the foyer.”

Oliver didn’t respond for a few long moments. He didn’t look at Elio, either. His perfect profile turned towards the sea, his jaw was tense, his Adam’s Apple bobbing nervously. 

Elio thought he was just not going to answer - but then he did.

“That was my wife.”

Elio took a breath. He knew Oliver had been married. He’d heard it from Mafalda, and Mrs Danvers, and Edward - but now that Oliver had admitted it, it was as if it had suddenly become real, no longer a rumour that others were quietly whispering. 

Elio thought of how he should react, but the fact that Oliver had responded without trying to preface it for him, without explanations, obviously said that Oliver imagined Elio was already aware. There was no point in Elio insulting his intelligence. 

“What happened to her?” He asked, gently.

More silence. Oliver stayed still, still looked ahead and not at Elio as he spoke. 

“Do we have to talk about this?”

Elio set his own jaw. He’d made Oliver angry.

“No,” he rushed to say, trying to keep his voice calm, sweet. “No, I just wondered -“

“She died.” Oliver finally turned, and looked at him. “She died a year ago.”

His eyes were suddenly darker. Stormy. Elio looked into them, trying to read Oliver - confused. He didn’t seem upset; rather, he seemed angry. Annoyed.

“Okay,” Elio rushed to say. Thinking of something he could say that wouldn’t make everything worse. “Okay, I’m-“

“I think we need to go back, now.” Whatever Elio was going to say, Oliver didn’t let him. He stood, looking down at Elio. The breeze ruffled his blonde hair gently, and it was such a contrast with how steely his eyes were right then.

“But I thought-“ Elio started, although he wanted to bite his own tongue a moment later - it probably wasn’t the right moment to insist they do the opposite of what Oliver was saying.

“Lunch will be ready soon. And I have some work to do before then. We better go back to the house.”

He looked at Elio, and then started walking back to where their driver was waiting for them. 

Elio stood; sighed, and followed him. 

They didn’t speak until they returned back at the house. 

Once there, Oliver told him he was going to his study, and that he’d see him at lunch.

As he watched him walk away, Elio knew he’d been expecting those words. He bit his lower lip, angry at himself for having caused this. Because he couldn’t hold his curiosity back for a few more days, for a better moment to ask.

And yet, he was even more confused now. By Oliver’s reaction, by his refusal to say anything - by how quickly he’d changed, how cold he’d become.

He thought for a moment. It was nearly lunch time. He could bear to go up to his room, alone, maybe read a few pages of his book and wait to be called down, and then he’d see Oliver again, try to talk to him, try to fix what had just happened. 

An hour went by quickly, and the welcome sound of the bell that signalled lunch was ready arrived.

Elio put his book away, checked on his clothes, smoothed the crease in his shirt, not wanting to look bad in front of Mrs Danvers. 

He was quite hungry, too, despite everything. And so he walked gingerly out of his room, already starting to get used to the path, remembering where to turn and what door to take to reach the stairs.

When he arrived at the dining hall, the table was ready. It was a long, rectangular one, set with a silky tablecloth and shiny silverware. There were many chairs by each side of the table - as if they were waiting for multiple guests to join. 

But, like the night before, Elio was alone. Unlike the night before, though, once he took his seat - at the side, hoping that Oliver would come down and sit across from him, so they could talk while they ate - Edward appeared.

He had a smile on his face, once again, and he walked over to the table, deposited a plate of bread in the middle.

“Good afternoon, Elio,” Edward greeted. This time, he seemed to have remembered Elio’s request to be addressed only by his name. “Lunch will be served shortly.”

“Hi,” Elio greeted back. Damnit, he always forgot he needed to be more formal. “Sorry, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I hope you are doing well, Edward.”

Edward seemed amused, and he chuckled politely, no shadow of offence or disconcert on his face. In fact, he stood next to Elio, smile still firmly on his face. Seemingly not in a hurry to return to his duties elsewhere.

“I am. I hope you are too. How are you enjoying the house?”

“Oh,” Elio shook his head. He looked at the bread on the table - he wanted to reach out, take a piece, but he knew that would definitely be rude. “I like it. It’s very - beautiful, though it’s so big. I’m still scared I’ll get lost.”

_And go to the wrong room_ ,  he found himself thinking, his curiosity still dictating his thoughts. Perhaps if he made Edward think he got himself lost, he could justify if he were ever found coming out of Oliver’s room, the marital room that Mrs Danvers had forbidden for him. Because he wanted to go to his room. They were going to get married; Oliver wasn’t going to ban him from sleeping with him in his master bedroom, that would be nonsense.

Edward laughed, affably. 

“You seem to have done well today. You didn’t get lost coming down for lunch. It’s a step forward,” he said, laughter still in his voice. And Elio chuckled back, politely - but also because he was relieved. He needed a moment of levity, after that morning.

A moment later, though, he saw Edward look up. The butler’s face became serious, professional once again, and Elio turned to see Oliver, standing by the other end of the table, looking at them.

“Oh, good afternoon, Master Oliver,” Edward greeted, once again fully on duty. “Lunch will be ready soon.”

“Good,” Oliver nodded. He walked to Elio, stopped close to him, his eyes still on Edward. “Can you check in on the kitchen, at once? Tell them to hurry. I’m sure Elio is hungry, and I don’t want him to have to wait.”

“Yes, sir,” Edward nodded, and obediently stepped away, directed to the door that led to the kitchen.

Elio looked up at Oliver; the older man was looking down at him. His expression was serene. “Are you hungry, my love?”

His eyes were back to their cobalt blue, and Elio returned his gaze. “I guess. A little.”

Oliver didn’t speak for a moment. Then, he sighed, audibly, and crouched down next to Elio’s chair, so that they were eye to eye. He reached out, stroked his thumb over Elio’s lower lip, gentle as ever.

“I’m sorry, Elio. About this morning, I didn’t mean to get angry at you.”

It was as if a weight had lifted suddenly. Elio felt like he had already forgotten what happened, wanted to forget everything immediately. 

“No, it was my fault,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I should have minded my own business. Mafalda always said I’m too nosy.”

He’d spoken quickly. Oliver was smiling up at him, and when he was done, he cupped his cheek, and reached up to kiss Elio’s lips. 

“I wish we didn’t have to eat now,” Oliver murmured, once he pulled back. “I wish I could take you to bed. Have you right now.”

Elio didn’t even think before he spoke. 

“You can. You can. I’m not hungry. If you want, we can go.”

He’d spoken quickly, already wanting to stand, and run upstairs, wanting to be with Oliver just as much as Oliver wanted to be with him. 

But before he could move, Oliver drew him close again, kissed him once more, hungry, deeply.

Elio had just closed his eyes, given himself to the kiss, when they already had to separate. Someone cleared their throat, impatiently; when they looked up - Elio’s face burned, and he knew he was flushed up, his body already tense, full of desire - Mrs Danvers was standing by the door to the kitchen. Looking at the both of them, eyebrows drawn together. Silent, but obviously disapproving.

“Let’s eat,” Oliver murmured on Elio’s lips. His eyes were glimmering with mischief, and Elio knew he wasn’t fazed by Mrs Danvers’s menacing presence. “I want to show you a nice place after lunch.”

And Elio nodded. Feeling all his worries from that morning melt away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm... what do you think?


	15. Let me hear you

Oliver held his hand as he led Elio through a long corridor.

“Where are we going?” Elio asked, amused. Oliver was being playful. Elio hadn’t seen that side of him often yet, and he liked it.

“You’ll see.”

The corridor took them to another large room, and on the opposite side, a terrace led into a back garden. There was a lot of light coming in, and Elio could see the blue sky though the glass door - it was a day of late summer, pleasant enough even for Cornwall. 

Oliver was still tugging him gently by the hand, and Elio went willingly, following Oliver out on the terrace, and then into the garden.

A few dozens of feet away was a pool, a large one, there in the garden. The clean water glimmered with the rays of the sun. Oliver turned to Elio, and smiled.

“I know you like swimming. I thought you might like to know that we have a pool, here. You can use it whenever you want.”

Elio’s eyes had gone wide. His cheeks pinched, as he smiled excitedly. 

“Oh. It looks lovely.”

Oliver squeezed his hand, then pulled Elio towards himself, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“Can we try it?” Elio asked, looking up into Oliver’s eyes. 

“Now?”

Elio nodded. “Yeah.”

“We don’t have our bathing suits.”

“We’ll just be in our underwear. Please?” Elio gave Oliver his best puppy dog look. And then, still smiling, he took his trousers off, then his shirt, stepping barefoot on to the grass and walking to the pool once Oliver began undressing too. 

Then when they were both in the water, though Elio had thought about swimming for a while, he’d had to concede defeat when Oliver had different ideas and held him in his arms instead, tickling his side, making him laugh. 

They splashed around for a while, threw water on each other - and it felt good to laugh, it felt carefree. The next time Oliver took him into his arms, Elio accepted his kiss, which moment later grew into something heavy, heated. 

Oliver pushed him gently against the side of the pool; Elio wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, returned his hungry kisses. Didn’t protest when Oliver pushed his underwear down his legs, in the water.

“God,” Elio murmured against Oliver’s mouth, when Oliver thrust inside him. He felt like growling. The water was cool, but his body was boiling hot, and Elio bit Oliver’s lower lip, earning a growl in return from the older man, a hand in his curls grasping and holding tight, punishing - but Elio had started to know Oliver, and knew he liked it. Liked to do it that way. And so did Elio, now. 

“Feels good?” Oliver murmured on his mouth. Looking right into his eyes. 

Elio could only reply in a breath, nod. “Yeah.”

“You’re so tight,” Oliver growled softly, and kissed his lips. “Squeezing the life out of me.”

Elio took a breath, his cheeks going even warmer. Feeling self-conscious, shy, in a way, though he knew he didn’t need to be, and yet he felt he was. 

No one had ever talked to him like that. Never with such passion, with such desire. With such lewd words, that Elio knew were designed to arouse. 

He made himself respond. “You’re big.” It was a compliment, and he hoped it made Oliver happy. 

And Oliver smiled. He grasped Elio’s chin with two fingers, lifted his face. Gave him another bruising kiss. 

Then, he withdrew, the water swishing with the movement, covering and uncovering their shoulders in waves. He made Elio turn around. 

“Hold onto the edge,” he murmured in his ear. “And let me hear you.” Elio didn’t know what he meant - until Oliver pushed into him from behind. Holding Elio’s hips tight in his fingers - Elio was sure he was going to get bruises there - pressing into him until Oliver’s chest was flush against Elio’s back. 

And Elio couldn’t help but cry out at the delicious violence of the thrust, at the intensity of the new position. 

He didn’t last long like that, nor did Oliver - but Elio didn’t think he’d be able to withstand much more, anyway. He let Oliver hold him against him at the end, throwing his head back over Oliver’s shoulder, mouth open, trying to regain oxygen, trying to stop his vision from shaking at the edges. 

Afterwards, they kissed for a while, slowly and languidly. Elio bit Oliver’s lip gently again, smiled when Oliver growled deep inside his throat. 

“I suppose this is not how this pool is used, usually,” Elio said. He kept his arms wrapped around Oliver’s neck, one hand into the older man’s hair, fingers holding on tightly, but he looked into Oliver’s eyes. The blue seemed even more magnificent when he looked at him from up close. 

“No. No it’s not.” Oliver chuckled quietly. 

“So you haven’t done this with anyone else?” _In this pool. Like you did with me_. That was that he wanted to ask, but he knew he didn’t need to. 

He held his eyes into Oliver’s. The older man didn’t respond straight away; and Elio swallowed, but held on, waiting. 

“No. No one else.”

Elio blinked. He didn’t even know where he was trying to go with this. Why he was threading such risky waters, when they’d just had a passionate, intimate moment. 

“It’s getting cold,” Oliver said then, breaking Elio’s chain of thoughts. “Let’s get out, you’ll be shivering soon.”

He made to remove Elio’s arms from around his neck, but Elio stopped him. 

“Wait,” he pleaded quietly. He held Oliver’s eyes once more. “I love you,” he said, sincerely. 

“I love you too,” Oliver replied. “Now come on. Let’s get back inside and make ourselves presentable again.”

When Elio opened the door to his bedroom, wanting to shower, get changed, dry his hair, he startled. 

Mrs Danvers was there. Standing in front of the big chest of drawers across from the bed. The ornate antique mirror hanging over it reflected her image, and it was even stranger, ominous. 

“Mrs Danvers, what are you doing here?” Elio asked, his heart still skipping beats. 

She looked at him, her eyes betraying nothing. 

“I’m the housekeeper, young Elio. I am supposed to check on the rooms.”

Elio looked at her, unsure of what to say. She might be the housekeeper, but was she really supposed to go into rooms without permission? 

“You seem nervous. Is anything the matter?” Mrs Danvers continued. It wasn’t out of worry, or care, that she was asking - Elio now knew as much. 

He set his jaw. 

“I need to wash and get changed. I need some privacy,” he made himself say. Even though he was upset, piqued at Mrs Danvers’s seeming disregard for boundaries, he knew he still couldn’t find the voice to tell her to leave. 

And she seemed to know it. 

She looked at him, a dry, unfriendly smile on her thin lips. 

“You should not leave your things in such chaos.” She took a few steps towards him, and towards the door. Seemingly decided on leaving - but not before she had her say. “Madame Elise was so tidy. So elegant. She would have never left a mess for the housekeeper to clean up.”

Even though she was not taller than Elio, it felt as if she was looking down at him as she spoke the words, and Elio knew she was. He pressed his lips together, determined not to let her see how agitated he was. Not only she let herself into his room unannounced, she also felt like she should tell him about Oliver’s wife, compare her to him. Make him aware of how less proper, much more crass he was, compared to her. 

“Don’t be late for dinner, please.” 

She had to spout the last orders, before she left. And Elio now felt like he knew what those were: orders. She looked down on him. She disliked him. 

When she left, he pushed the door behind her, turning the key, making sure it closed properly. He was going to use the key to lock the door when he went out from now on - though something in his head told him she must have a double of the key for sure, and that wasn’t going to keep her away. 

He felt so tired, mentally. He turned around, looked towards the en-suite bathroom with longing. He hoped a warm shower and a change of clothes would make him feel better. Then, he needed to talk to Oliver about what had happened. 

As he removed his trousers, his eye fell on an object that lay on his made-up bed. 

Oliver’s watch. 

Elio didn’t own such an item - certainly not a gold and silver one, like Oliver did. Oliver must have forgotten it in his room that morning, though Elio hadn’t noticed. 

But now, Mrs Danvers had seen it. She was probably the one who placed on the bed, properly on sight, for Elio to notice.And Elio was sure she knew that it meant Oliver had slept over in his room. 

With a sigh, eyebrows creased in worry, Elio removed his shirt, too, and decided that the sooner he got himself ready, the sooner he could meet with Oliver, and talk to him about all of this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I going too slow with this story? Is it boring?  
> Would you prefer that I wait until Rebecca is out before continuing?
> 
> Please leave me a comment if you’re reading... it’s really important to me.
> 
> (THANK YOU to all of you who always comment. Thank you!)


	16. Everything’s fine

Oliver had mentioned he needed to work for a couple of hours that afternoon, and Elio decided to go and find him in his study.

He hadn’t been shown where it was, but he’d seen Oliver disappear behind the big door at the back of the foyer, and so he headed there. 

Another hallway followed, very lightly lit, the walls a dark grey, which gave Elio the chills. There were more photographs hanging on the walls, as well as a couple of large paintings - Elio didn’t pause to look, preferring to keep walking, not spend more time here that he had to. 

He was glad that the hallway didn’t lead to many more doors. There was just one, at the end, and Elio bit his lower lip, wondered what to do. Would he be reprimanded for knocking? Was Oliver even in that room?

There was only one way of knowing.

He rapped gently on the door, tentatively. 

“Oliver? Are you there? It’s me. It’s Elio,” he murmured.

For one long, nerve racking moment there was no response, and Elio thought he could hear his own heartbeats as he waited. Then, the doorknob turned, and the door opened slightly. Oliver was behind it - and he exited the room, closing the door back behind him.

“Is everything okay?”

Elio looked into the older man’s eyes. He was still worried he was being inappropriate, worried he was intruding. He couldn’t read Oliver’s expression.

“I - I was wondering if we could talk.”

He saw Oliver frown. “Is it urgent? Can it wait?”

Elio didn’t want to wait. He felt like he needed to tell him now, now that he could convey all the annoyance and upset that he felt at Mrs Danvers’s intrusion. But could he say it was urgent? It wasn’t. Certainly not compared to Oliver’s work, whatever that was. Elio didn’t want to be a burden, a spoiled child crying for attention.

He sighed, shook his head slowly. “No. Not urgent.”

Oliver pursed his lips, then looked around them, as if he was expecting anyone else to be there, even though they were completely alone. Before Elio could linger on that thought, Oliver took another step towards him, and took his face into his hands, palms warm on Elio’s cheeks. 

“Are you okay?”

Despite his turmoil, Elio felt his chest tighten with affection. He raised his own hand to cover Oliver’s on his cheek. 

Oliver was so caring.

He nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Oliver nodded too, and the corners of his mouth turned up a little, the start of a smile. “I still have some things to finish up here.” He stroked Elio’s lower lip with his thumb. One of his favourite things to do, and Elio loved the rough yet tender feel of his pad on his skin. “Will you go to your room? I’ll come up and see you as soon as I’m done. I promise.”

Elio sighed. “But it’s lonely.” 

He wanted to say much more. It’s lonely, it’s scary, it’s boring. He didn’t want to sit alone in his bedroom, in silence, waiting for Oliver to come see him, not knowing when that might be.

But he knew he sounded like a child, like the spoiled person he was trying not to be.

He was relieved to see that Oliver wasn’t annoyed, still looked patient, stroked his cheekbone with the index of one hand. 

“It won’t be long. I promise.” He reached down to kiss him on the lips. “We’ll go out for dinner tonight, if you like. I’ll have the driver ready.”

The mention of some time away from the mansion, away from Mrs Danvers and alone with Oliver made Elio feel instantly better. He smiled.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

“That’s my boy,” Oliver smiled wider.

If it were up to Elio, he’d want to stay there for a minute, kissing Oliver and being kissed - but Oliver stroked his lips with his thumbs once more, and then asked, “Shall I get the butler to walk you back?”

Elio almost blushed. He appreciated the attention, but no. He would walk back on his own, he could do that.

“No, I’ll be okay.”

Oliver nodded, and stepped back. 

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

Elio read for a while. The boredom and the silence in his bedroom didn’t help with his concentration, however, and he thought about stepping out, doing something else instead. But Oliver had asked him to wait in his room, and he didn’t want to risk Oliver not finding him there once he was done - that house was so immense, they could easily lose each other unless they knew where the other was. 

Plus, Elio could do without running into Mrs Danvers once again.

Oliver came to him a couple of hours later.

And Elio had thought about trying to speak to him again. As much as the conversation was difficult, and he hated to have to use his time with Oliver to talk about Mrs Danvers, and he didn’t want to sound whiny, what she had done had seriously irritated him, and so he wanted to get it out in the open with his fiancé. 

But he wasn’t able to.

Once alone in the bedroom, door closed, Oliver had taken him into his arms again, kissed him, with thirst. He’d walked him back to the bed, in a deja vu of a moment that had already happened, although time was almost blurring together into one continuum now for Elio. 

Elio had ran his hand into Oliver’s hair, clutched at the strands on his nape when Oliver had started undressing him. 

He wanted to talk, but that didn’t mean he was strong enough to stop Oliver from giving him the attention and the pleasure that he craved, and that Oliver evidently craved in return. 

Moaning against Oliver’s mouth, he closed his eyes, holding his thighs around Oliver’s waist, and letting his orgasm start in his belly, and move into his limbs like a wave, clearing his mind off the bad thoughts for a little while. 

After dinner, and after returning home, Elioalmost didn’t expect Oliver to come back to his room with him. He didn’t know why; after how worried he’d been, when he’d seen Oliver’s watch neatly placed on his bed by Mrs Danvers, who’d obviously guessed why it was in his room, he was almost surprised when Oliver followed him down his side of the hallway.

They were in bed, together, a little later on; Oliver held him in his arms, warm, bare chest pressed against Elio’s back, the position he favoured. 

Elio could feel, from his breathing, that the older man was going to be asleep soon. 

But he needed to say something. The thought was going to torment him for the whole night if he didn’t.

“Mrs Danvers was here. In my room, today.” He took a breath. Didn’t move a muscle. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

A few moments of silence. Elio almost thought Oliver hadn’t heard, was already asleep. 

But then his fiancé spoke. 

“She’s the housekeeper. She was tidying up.”

Mrs Danvers’s words. 

“But I didn’t know, I didn’t expect her there.”

“Would you have rather find your room still untidy?” Oliver’s voice was quiet, but not annoyed or irritated. He sounded sleepy. 

“No, but I,” Elio sighed, squeezed his fist around the corner of his pillowcase. “I needed to get changed, and she wouldn’t leave.”

Oliver’s breath was warm, damp, on the skin at Elio’s nape. 

“Sometimes she forgets other people have things to do. She likes to take her time. Did you tell her what you needed to do?”

“I did, I did. But she wouldn’t leave, and told me - that I was messy.” Oliver held his breath. He’d wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Oliver what Mrs Danvers had said about Elise, how she’d compared him to her - but last time they’d talked about Oliver’s wife, when he mentioned her, it hadn’t gone well. Elio knew it was too late, now, to try such a conversation again. 

He heard Oliver sigh behind him. 

“That’s just how she is, baby. She doesn’t mean any harm.” He nuzzled Elio’s nape again. “Let’s sleep, now, my love.” His arm tightened around where he held Elio against himself. “Everything’s fine.”

His voice was even quieter. And from the way his body had relaxed, Elio knew Oliver’d succumbed to sleep. 

He sighed again; closed his eyes. He didn’t feel like he’d gotten anywhere. 

Perhaps he was the one who was misinterpreting. Perhaps Oliver was right. 

He took a deep breath, and concentrated on thinking of nothing, hoping for sleep to come quickly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Xx


	17. Show Me

A couple of days went by. Then a couple more.

The weather had been quite nice, sunny at times, and Elio and Oliver had been out for walks several times. They’d been to a local theatre show one evening; Elio asked to try a new restaurant on another. 

Oliver still had to work during the afternoon, and Elio started spending a lot of time in the library there at Manderley - he’d been intimidated by it, at first, as it was just as huge and dark as the other rooms in the mansion. Then Edward, the butler, had helped. He’d showed Elio that there was a big window that could be kept open for the light to come in. The library had suddenly began to look more welcoming. 

Edward seemed so helpful, and Elio was frankly glad to see his smiling face when they crossed paths. 

And spending time in the library meant there was less chance he’d encounter Mrs Danvers. It wasn’t that he was scared of her; he just didn’t like the way she seemed to judge everything she saw. If she wanted to be miserable, then she could suit herself. 

Elio was happy. He was engaged, he was going to get married soon, to Oliver, whom he loved. He didn’t need Mrs Danvers’s weird moods and judgement.

Truth was, however, that for a few days Mrs Danvers seemed to leave him alone. Edward was around, helping Elio at meal service, managing the cleaning staff. 

Perhaps if would keep being that way - Elio could live with that.

One thing, however, remained.

Oliver was still spending time in his own bedroom, the infamous marital one. Elio hadn’t seen it yet, not even a glimpse of it. And that had begun to feel strange. 

When Oliver was going to his bedroom - to get changed, to get ready, for any reason - he would kiss Elio on the lips and say “I’ll see you shortly.” Once, when they were already upstairs, alone, kissing languidly against the hallway wall - when they parted, Oliver said he’d call Edward to walk Elio back to his room. 

Elio had been so taken aback that he hadn’t been able to protest, or say anything to that.

So one afternoon, one when Oliver seemed to be less busy in his study and had come back to the dining room early and walked to Elio, kissed his temple, sat down and grabbed a newspaper to read, Elio made himself ask.

“Are you going up to the room soon?”

Oliver had looked up, his eyes glimmering in mischief. “Well. If you want to go to the bedroom, I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

“No, I mean your bedroom. The one that Mrs Danvers says it’s your one,” Elio responded, ignoring the allusion in Oliver’s words.

Oliver hesitated for a moment, seemed confused as to where this was going. 

“Not right now, but maybe later, yes, to get changed.” He turned the page of the newspaper he was flitting through, though his eyes stayed on Elio. “Why?”

“Can I see it?”

It made Oliver stop, hold his eyes on Elio, frowning.

“Can you see it?”

“Yes. Your room. I haven’t seen it yet.”

“That’s because there is nothing much to see.”

“Then why haven’t I been allowed to see it yet. Why haven’t you taken me there, why haven’t I been allowed to stay with you there.”

Oliver’s eyes hardened, almost imperceptibly, though Elio didn’t miss it.

“You know why. Mrs Danvers told you clearly when we arrived. We’re not married yet.”

“But why can’t I even just see it?” Elio lifted his chin, his own expression hardened, his jaw set. He didn’t want to argue, but now that they were talking, he wanted to know.

“Why would you want to see it? I already told you, there’s nothing special there.”

“Then show me,” Elio raised his voice a little. “There must be something there if you don’t want me to see.”

A beat. Oliver closed his newspaper, and his expression, even more severe, made Elio swallow in anxiety.

“Are you accusing me of hiding something? Are you accusing me of lying to you?”

“No, I’m not, that’s not what I’m doing,” Elio said, and his voice became louder, all on its own. He was getting emotional, which was what he had tried to avoid. “I just want to see your room, that’s all. It doesn’t seem to me like I’m asking for much.”

Oliver held his eyes. His own were dark, grey-blue, a stormy sea. 

He spoke, slowly, his voice level, but hard.

“You have been told what the rules are. I told you I’m willing to partially break them for you, to be with you. I’ve done everything to make you happy. Why can’t you just accept that you can’t have everything you want? Why can’t you compromise, sometimes? Are you really that immature?”

The words hurt like a slap to the face. 

Oliver had never spoken to Elio like that.

And Elio held his breath. He wasn’t willing to have such a fight that Oliver would be upset by him - that wasn’t what he’d wanted to do. 

He didn’t know what to say, right now, though. He stared back at Oliver, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright. He wanted to say something, but he was afraid he would just make things worse.

Oliver looked away, then. Sighed, cleared his throat. He looked as if he’d just realised what had happened.

He stood from his chair, placed the newspaper back on the table. 

“I have work to do. I’ll see you at dinner.” And with that, he’d walked away, leaving Elio alone at the table.

Out in the patio, later on, sitting on the stairs that led to the garden, Elio thought.

The water from the pool swished quietly. It was still a warm enough day to swim, but Elio didn’t feel like it. 

His back against the brick wall, face on his bent knees, brows knitted, Elio just felt like he wanted to be left alone. Which was so strange, since so far he’d hated being alone.

He was upset that he and Oliver had fought. 

Thinking about it now, it seemed so silly. He didn’t even know how it got to a fight, really. Yes, he wished Oliver would not be so secretive about his room. He wished he didn’t make Elio feel excluded from a part of his life. 

But what this really worth a fight? After all, Oliver did spend most of his time with Elio, he did sleep in Elio’s room. 

Elio bit his lower lip. He’d gone at this all wrong.

“Elio?”

A voice brought him back out of his thoughts and into the present.

It came from behind him, and Elio turned around to see Edward, standing just by the large glass doors.

“Elio, are you alright?”

Elio sighed. Edward still remembered to call him by name. He was still friendly, perhaps the only friendly person right now.

“Yes. Yes. Just, resting.”

Edward was quiet for a moment. Then Elio heard the sound of his shoes, leather and elegant, on the marble of the floor, two steps that brought him closer.

“I used to sit there when I was younger, too. Used to watch the birds. We had a fountain, there, and it was relaxing to look at.”

Elio sighed. Turned, looked up at Edward. 

“Were you also bored, when you were younger?”

Edward laughed. “Yes. It was a little boring. But I went out a lot, because I had less duties back then. I had some favourite places here in town.”

Elio bit his lip again. 

Oliver wasn’t going to be done with work for hours now. Elio didn’t want to stay in his room alone, but if he hung around here in Manderley, it was certain he was going to bump into Mrs Danvers. 

He had an idea, and he didn’t think twice about asking. 

“Would you show me, then? Some good places here in town, some things to see? I don’t know what people do, here, and would like to find out.”

Edward raised his eyebrows, in surprise at the request; but didn’t seem opposed to it. 

“Well, I can do that. If you wish. It would be my pleasure.”

Elio smiled, and stood. 

“Great. Let’s go.”


	18. A pretty pastime

On his way into town with Edward, Elio looked excitedly out of the car window.

He thought about what he wanted to do. Go to a tailor. Buy some new clothes, for Oliver and for himself. Go to a coffee shop. He’d ask Edward for more suggestions, since he knew the place well.

Sitting next to him in the back of the car, Edward was quiet, but Elio could feel his amused eyes on himself. He turned around, gave Edward a smile.

“You seem quite excited.” Edward’s voice was light.

Elio nodded. “Yeah. Something different to do.”

“Master Oliver works quite a lot, doesn’t he,” Edward said.

Elio kept his eyes on the landscape outside of the window. 

“Yeah. I mean. Yes, he does.” He wanted to say more, add an explanation, a word of support for his future husband who was so thorough in his work. But the truth was, Elio had no idea what Oliver was working on. And Oliver, so far, had not offered any information.

“It’s a tough situation.” When Edward spoke, Elio turned around to look at him. He tried to keep his expression neutral, not to betray his immense curiosity, his need to know something that Oliver had been so unwilling to tell him. “Mistress Elise died so suddenly. There’s still a lot to sort out, there.”

Elio frowned. He wasn’t sure he could understand all the implications. 

“How did she die?” he asked only.

“She drowned. Just terrible,” Edward shook his head. “She had been such a wonderful wife and lady of the house. Manderley has not been the same since.”

The words hit differently now that they came from Edward. Elio swallowed, and turned back to look outside the window, eyebrows knitted together.

“... but now you’re here, I’m sure things will return as they were. Even better,” Edward added, probably noticing Elio’s mood after what he’d said, although his comment felt very much like an afterthought.

“No. I don’t think so,” Elio shook his head forlornly. “I’m no good in the house. Or socially.”

“You can learn,” Edward said. Elio turned towards him. The butler reached out with a hand, an almost imperceptible movement, but so that the tips of his glowed fingers touched Elio’s on the leather of the car seat. “I can teach you. You can become just as good as Elise. Even better.”

Elio took a breath. His heart wanted to beat fast, but his head was not catching up as quickly, was still working out why he felt so anxious all of a sudden.

“Mrs Danvers doesn’t like me,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Maybe you just have to do as she asks,” Edward’s fingers touched Elio’s once more, and then retreated. “Do what she tells you to. That’s what Mistress Elise used to do. Take her guidance, and you’ll be just as loved as Oliver’s wife, by Mrs Danvers and by everyone.”

Elio bit his lower lip, hard. He was still frowning, his mind still trying to process what he’d been told. He raised his eyes to Edward, and Edward smiled. So Elio made himself stretch his lips into a small smile too, made himself give a small nod. 

Dinner was quiet. 

Oliver seemed perfectly fine, talking about the day, asking how Elio’s day had been.

Elio broke off a piece of bread, as he chewed the side of his mouth, looked down into his soup.

“I went into town, today. Bought some things, for you and me.”

He saw Oliver frown lightly. 

“You went on your own?”

“No, no. With Edward,” Elio said. He looked up into Oliver’s eyes. “We took the driver. He showed me into town. He knows it very well.”

Oliver was quiet for a long moment. Looking down into his bowl, too, eating in silence, the only noises those of their cutlery as it clicked lightly on the sides of the plates.

“I’m glad you had fun,” Oliver said in the end. He looked up at Elio, and then back down, focusing again on his food.

Elio swallowed. He reached out, to place his fingers gently over Oliver’s left hand on the table. “I missed you,” he said, quietly.

Later that night, Elio felt really tired, and so he went up to his room, got ready to sleep while Oliver stayed downstairs and had his whiskey.

He thought he wouldn’t see him until the next day, and his eyelids were getting so heavy as he lay in bed, wrapped in the thick velvet of the bedsheet. But then, he heard footsteps. The sound of a door opening, and then closing. Oliver’s silhouette, in the shadow of the room, only lit by the yellow hue of the night lamp.

The bed dipped as Oliver climbed on it, over Elio. He cupped Elio’s cheek, and made him turn around, to lie on his back, Oliver hovering over him. And when he leant down to kiss his throat, the side of his neck, his collarbone, and Elio could smell the familiar, heady scent of the whiskey on Oliver’s breath, on his lips, he sighed.

Oliver unbuttoned his night shirt, and kissed down his sternum, following a path along Elio’s smooth, pale skin, pulling down his pijama bottoms firmly. 

Elio closed his eyes, ready to feel Oliver’s mouth on him, but was surprised when the older man placed his legs over his shoulders and lifted him, going to kiss him past his genitals and under them, in between his thighs, between the globes of his backside. 

It was intimate, and secret, and forbidden - and it felt so good. 

Elio arched his back, slowly, adjusted his body so that Oliver’s mouth and tongue were exactly where he needed them, and earned a praising growl from Oliver in response.

“Oliver,” Elio called. The muscles of his legs were contracting, his belly tightening, and he reached down to clasp his fingers into Oliver’s hair, and squeezed. He couldn’t come on this alone. He couldn’t, that would be crazy.

When Oliver pulled up, Elio felt so boneless, not in control of his own body. Like putty, in Oliver’s hands.

Oliver pushed into him and Elio wasn’t even sure if he’d already come, if he could come again, until he felt his orgasm build deep inside him again, and gave himself over to it, listening to Oliver’s harsh breathing against his temple. 

The next day, when Elio started to bat his eyelids open, he could hear the chirping of the birds outside. 

The sun made itself known through the curtains, and he rubbed at one eye with the back of his hand, turning around, sleepily, to find Oliver in bed, though awake, sitting up, a newspaper in his hands. When he saw that Elio was finally awake too, Oliver placed the paper on the nightstand and turned to him, a smile on his face.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he greeted, wrapping an arm around Elio’s waist. They were both still naked, and Elio felt a shiver run through his body at the closeness with Oliver’s skin.

Oliver kissed his lips. “Want some breakfast?”

It made Elio chuckle. “Sounds like you’re the one who’s hungry,” he said, and let his hands run lazily through Oliver’s hair. It was messy, and having recently woken, Oliver looked younger, too. This, and how affectionate Oliver was being, made Elio’s heart throb.

“Well. I won’t say I’m not.” Oliver kissed him again. “Eggs? Bacon? I want to have breakfast in bed this morning.”

That was new. So far, they’d always gone downstairs for breakfast. 

But perhaps that meant Oliver wanted to be lazy today, perhaps he didn’t have much work to do. Elio felt instantly excited, and smiled again, his cheeks pinched with pleasure. 

“And some jam, too? With bread?”

Oliver chuckled again. “Of course, my prince. Anything you want.”

He stood from the bed, still completely naked, and Elio admired his muscular body as the older man walked to his dressing gown, put it on. Then he padded to the telephone in the room, and called down to the kitchen for their breakfast. 

A couple of hours later and Elio walked down to the foyer, dressed and cleaned, his hair swept to the side, curls combed.

He and Oliver were going for another trip. After that morning, and the plans they’d made for the day, Elio felt all warm inside. He went to sit on the steps on the patio, closing his eyes for a moment agains the pleasant breeze, the rays of sun warm but not unpleasantly so. He pulled up a book from his satchel, placed it on his knees, wanting to read a few pages while he waited for Oliver to finish getting ready and come down.

“Another excursion out of the house, then?”

Elio closed his eyes for a moment at the sound of Mrs Danvers’s voice. 

He hadn’t seen her there, but there she was, standing by the path that led to the pool, her arms crossed over her chest. The pool was being cleaned by two men that morning; she must have just been to give them instructions.

“Yes. Oliver and I are going to Pentire today.”

He hoped that would be enough to satisfy Mrs Danvers’s need for information, and that she would leave. But she just kept her eyes on him, her lips pressed together.

“How lovely for you. I hope you have a wonderful time.” She started walking back towards the entrance, but stopped before going inside. 

“By the way. You should really think of a date for that wedding of yours to Master Oliver. It’s been long enough, I expect people will start talking soon. Unless, of course, you no longer intend to get married.”

Elio kept his eyes on his book, refused to look up at her.

“We both want to get married, Mrs Danvers. And soon.”

Though he wasn’t looking at her, he could feel her eyes, hard, on the back of his head.

“Mistress Elise would have never let so long pass. She had everything planned, way before she moved into Manderley. And what a beautiful wedding, that was. I had never seen Master Oliver so happy.”

_Don’t let her get to you_ ,  Elio tried to tell himself. But he held on to the book harder with his hands, and swallowed. 

He might not want to listen to her, but it was true - they hadn’t talked about their wedding since they got to Manderley. They hadn’t planned any of it.

“I’d speak to Master Oliver, if I were you, dear child,”Mrs Danvers continued, and her sickly sweet words contrasted with the harsh tone she was using. “Men do get bored really quickly, you know, once they’ve got what they want. And since you’ve obviously given it to him,” and she emphasised her words, “you don’t want to become, as they say -just a pretty pastime.”

And with those words, she walked back into the mansion, the sound of her heels on the floor getting lighter and lighter as she disappeared into Manderley.

His eyes still on the pages, on the same line that he’d reread ten, fifteen times, Elio bit his lip, hard, frowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love your comments! They inspire me! Please keep letting me know what you think.


	19. Obsessed

“So how was your day at Pentire?” Edward asked. He’d walked over to where Elio was sitting out in the patio, soaking up the last few rays of English summer, and stood next to him, in his uniform, hands behind his back.

Elio looked up from his book, placed it on his lap.

“It was really good, thanks. The weather was nice. And we had fun.”

He was telling the truth - he and Oliver had such a nice day, the day before, strolling along the main street, stopping for food and drinks. Now, the next day, after breakfast, Oliver was back at work, but Elio still basked in the memories from yesterday.

“How marvellous,” Edward said. “I just wanted to check if you’d like perhaps to go for a drive, this morning? I’d be pleased to show you the countryside.”

Elio took a breath. He was rather enjoying sitting there, in the pleasing, tepid weather, reading quietly. But he knew he might get bored soon. And after all, a car drive wasn’t going to take long.

“Master Oliver is working, now, anyway. You won’t see him until dinner,” Edward continued. 

“Okay. Sure.” Elio nodded, and stood.

Elio kept his eyes glued to the landscape outside - to the lush, green English countryside, something that almost looked like it had come out of a book about elves and fairies - later in the car, when Edward, sitting next to him in the back, spoke.

“So, how are the preparations going?”

Elio turned to him. “Preparations?”

“Yes. For your wedding to Master Oliver.”

Ah. Damn, here we go again. They were all asking about the wedding. 

Elio hadn’t found the time - or the courage, for some reason - to talk to Oliver about it the day before.

“We’ll start soon,” he half-lied, and turned back around to look outside the window, hoping for Edward to drop the subject.

“Well. Let me know if I can help in any way. We have a really great tailor, whom we’ve worked with for decades at Manderley. He created most of Master Oliver’s suits, and most of Mistress Elise’s dresses, too. In fact - she had one of his beautiful dresses on, when she left Manderley for the last time.”

Elio certainly didn’t want to be talking about Elise, not now, nor later. Mrs Danvers was already doing her best to remind him of her at every turn. 

But he was still curious. Curious about her,very curious, in fact, despite himself. Everybody has said how much Oliver loved her, and Elio barely knew anything about this seemingly perfect woman.

So Elio took a deep breath, and asked the question.

“What did she look like? Elise?”

Edward sighed, and it was wistful.

“Oh. She was beautiful. Tall, and slim. With long chestnut hair, dark eyes. A big smile on her face at all times.”

Elio kept his eyes on the butler. He knew he wasn’t doing himself any favour by listening to this - by somehow allowing Mrs Danvers to get into his head even more, to heighten his curiosity. But he couldn’t stop listening.

“She was the soul of every party and was loved by everyone at Manderley. Everyone knew her, and everyone liked her. Master Oliver was obsessed with her.”

Elio swallowed. “How did she die?”

Edward frowned. 

“Oh. Did Master Oliver not tell you?”

Elio shook his head, bit the inside of his lower lip. “No, he hasn’t.”

“I see,” Edward nodded too. “Mr and Mrs De Winter were on a trip to the seaside when it happened. In Penzance.” He sighed. “She drowned during a swim in the sea. Master Oliver was with her.” He looked away, and then back to Elio, his eyes intense. “Apparently Master De Winter couldn’t do anything to save her.”

Elio looked down, to his feet, clad in boots, on the floor of the Cadillac that their driver used to take them on trips. He frowned. 

The way Edward had pronounced the words, his tone, the way he’d called him by his surname, didn’t sit right with him.

A few moments later, Edward spoke again.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t told you all about it yet.”

It made Elio set his jaw. Now he detected accusation in Edward’s words, and he felt anxiety rise in his chest. He didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t like the implications. 

But he bit his tongue before saying anything that could be misinterpreted. Perhaps it was just his emotions playing with him - Mafalda had always said he should keep them in check. 

After all, he didn’t think Edward would speak ill of Oliver.

“I didn’t want him to think of any of that. Because I know it’s still upsetting for him,” Elio said instead. He lifted his chin, pressed his lips together. “This is why I didn’t ask, and this is why he hasn’t told me.”

He kept his eyes fixed to the road ahead of them. He wondered if the driver, Jake, could hear anything. He wondered if he was listening.

“You’re a good person.” Edward spoke again. Elio wasn’t looking towards him, but he felt his eyes on him. “A good spouse. Not just beautiful, but caring, too.”

Elio held his breath. He’d only been called beautiful by Oliver. No other man had ever said anything like that to him. He wasn’t sure it was okay, for anyone else to make such a comment.

“I hope Master Oliver treats you well. As well as your beauty deserves.”

Elio kept his eyes ahead. He didn’t know what to say to that; he didn’t want to say anything. And so, he kept quiet, hoping for silence. 

And it seemed like Edward got the message, and for a while, he didn’t say anything else. 

“Can we talk?” Elio said, that night. Sitting on the edge of the bed; watching Oliver get dressed for sleep.

In his dressing gown, Oliver turned towards him. His hair was tousled, face tired after a long day, but he still looked so handsome. When he walked to Elio, and tipped the boy’s head up with a hand under his chin, to kiss his lips, Elio gladly let him.

“What would you like to talk about?” Oliver replied, going back to the vanity, undoing the sash on his dressing gown and taking it off. He was bare chested underneath, his pijama bottoms hanging low on his hips. He poured some whisky into a small glass, sipped from it.

Elio pursed his lips.

There were quite a few things he wanted to talk about. Elise. What had happened to her, what had happened that day at the beach. 

The work that Oliver needed to do. 

Mrs Danvers, and Edward, and why they were so attached to Elise still. Why did they describe her like a perfect, almost inhuman woman, an unattainable model of beauty and goodwill.

But he was afraid. He didn’t want to upset Oliver. He didn’t want to fight.

He made himself speak.

“We haven’t - planned our wedding yet.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I didn’t know you wanted to plan it already.” Oliver took another sip of his whiskey. “I thought you wanted to wait until we got to America.”

“Yeah, but - you said you don’t know when we’re going to go. I thought it would be quick, but - I’m not sure, now,” Elio tried to explain, his eyes on Oliver.

“I still have things to do here.”

“I know, I know,” Elio held his hands on the bed cover, nervous. “I’m just. A little confused.”

He watched, as Oliver placed his now empty glass on the vanity. Then padded over, stood in front of him. Reached out his hand, stroked his thumb over Elio’s full lower lip.

“What are you confused about?”

Elio swallowed. Every contact, every little touch by Oliver had the ability to make him forget everything he wanted to say. But he needed to do this.

“About - the work that you have to do. About - why we need to stay here.”

“Do you not like it here?” Oliver’s eyes looked at him attentively.

“I do, I -“ Elio looked away for a moment, then back to Oliver. Mafalda always said he should look at the person he was talking to, especially during serious conversations. “I like it, I just - Mrs Danvers is always asking things. Always - saying things.”

“Why do we have to talk about her again?” Oliver interrupted. “Haven’t we discussed this already? This is just how she is. I ignore her. You should too.”

Elio swallowed. The anxiety in his chest was quickly turning into frustration. 

“She’s always - judging, Oliver. She said I’ve - that I’ve slept with you, and this is not what a respectable person who is set to get married would do.”

Oliver’s eyebrows knit together. “Is this what she said?”

And Elio’s heart skipped a beat. Was that what she had said? That was certainly what Elio had understood, from her inference.

He sighed, shook his head. “I don’t - I don’t know.”

He heard Oliver sigh too.

“I’ll have a word with her,” he said. His voice sounded calm, level again. “I’m sorry she upset you.”

Elio didn’t look up, still frowned, looking at the floor, at what he could see in the darkness of the room. He was trying, but he didn’t feel like he’d conveyed what he meant to, didn’t feel like he’d said anything of relevance, really.

Oliver took a step closer. He made Elio look up, again, with a hand under his chin, so that they could look each other in the eye.

“Whatever you do with your body is nobody’s business but yours, and mine. How many times you’ve shared your body with me has no bearing on whether I want to marry you or not. And I want to marry you. Whatever happens.”

Whatever happens. Elio closed his eyes, for a long moment. 

Oliver had such a way with words. He always managed to reach right into Elio’s mind, into Elio’s heart. 

Hours later, past midnight, Elio lay in bed, in Oliver’s arms. The whole room was completely dark, and he could listen to his heart beat slowing down after sex, to Oliver’s breathing on the nape of his neck behind him. 

Oliver had a hand above his stomach, and the warmth of it left an imprint of sensation on Elio’s skin. He felt Oliver move, nuzzle the side of his throat.

“Mmh. This skin,” Oliver murmured. Elio knew he had his eyes closed; could feel the tickle of Oliver’s eyelashes. Oliver was almost purring. 

His hand moved, sliding up Elio’s chest, slow; until it reached his throat. Oliver’s fingers wrapped around it. 

It was firm. And though Oliver wasn’t squeezing, Elio could not move.

The older man pressed his lips under Elio’s ear, and his next words were almost a whisper.

“I’m obsessed with you.”

Elio held his breath, freezing, his heart rate spiking up.  _Obsessed_.  That was what Edward said about Oliver today. 

That he was obsessed with Elise.

That Elise had died, drowned. 

That Oliver was with her. 

Elio closed his eyes. He was getting carried away. He was letting things get into his mind, frighten him, he was sure of it. It was this house, scary and dark, it was these people that lived in it. They were getting to his head. He was sure of it.

He felt Oliver press a kiss behind his ear. Then the pressure lifted around his neck; Oliver’s hand slid down, stroking his chest and stomach as it went, stopping to rest on Elio’s hipbone. A couple of minutes later Oliver’s breathing was slow and relaxed enough that Elio knew he must be asleep. 

He closed his eyes, tried to make himself rest, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t yet watched Rebecca! But I will today. 
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter. Things are getting serious!


	20. The man of the house

“Tell me more about Elise?” Elio asked one morning, a couple of days later, as he and Edward sat in the garden, around a stone table. Edward had just brought him a cup of hot tea, which was warming up Elio’s hands nicely as he held it between his palms.

Edward stood by the table, not far from him, glowed hands behind his back. 

“What would you like to know?”

“Was she very beautiful?”

The butler’s expression turned into something more somber. “Yes. She was. The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Elio looked down, to the table, to where a leaf had fallen, golden with the beginning of autumn. He reached out to touch it with his fingers. “It seems like she was perfect.”

“That’s indeed like she seemed. She gave joy to anyone she met. She was a wonderful organiser and planner. She always knew what was going on at Manderley, and worked so well with Mrs Danvers.”

Elio sighed. He felt his eyes prickle. 

He didn’t know why he kept asking about Elise. Everything he heard about her just made him feel awful. She was like a ghost, gone, but still very much present in the mansion. 

He brushed one eye with his free hand, wanting to get rid of the lone, bitter tear he felt wanting to make its way down his cheek.

“Hey, hey,” Edward said. Damn, he had noticed. “Please don’t be upset.”

Elio looked away. He didn’t know what to say, really. How could he not be upset?

“You are very young, Elio,” Edward continued. He crouched down, to look up into Elio’s face - and it was unexpected. It made Elio turn back around to hold his eyes, uncaring of the red rimming his own. “You are only seventeen. Like I said - you can learn. I can teach you, and so can Mrs Danvers.”

“I told you. Mrs Danvers doesn’t like me.”

“And I told you,” Edward said, though his tone was careful, light. “Maybe you should ask for her help. Follow her guidance.”

Elio bit his lip, considering. Perhaps, that’s what he should do, as much as he wasn’t looking forward to not only seeing Mrs Danvers, but seeking her out himself.

A noise made them turn towards the glass doors that opened onto the garden. As if she knew they’d been talking about her, Mrs Danvers stood there, arms crossed over her chest, her trademark stance. 

Edward stood back up. Mrs Danvers’s expression, as always, gave nothing away.

“Master Oliver is looking for you,” she said, her eyes on Elio. “You have probably kept him waiting long enough.”

Elio took a breath. He didn’t like the accusation always present in her voice, of course. But if he were to try and bring her round to his side, then he couldn’t pick this moment to confront her, and so he gathered all his patience, and stood, making his way towards her.

“Thank you, Mrs Danvers. I will go to him now.”

He walked past her, not looking back, trying to pretend everything was fine.

He found Oliver in the main hall, in front of the fireplace, a glass of whisky in his hand.

“You were looking for me?” Elio asked, walking up to him. He was a little nervous that he’d find Oliver annoyed, like Mrs Danvers had said, because he’d made him wait. But Oliver opened an arm, wrapping it around Elio’s body and drawing him close to his chest.

“I was,” Oliver confirmed. “Mrs Danvers said you were out in the garden with Edward?”

Elio bit his lip. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong, and yet, he felt weirdly guilty.

“Yeah. I was.”

He felt Oliver take in a breath, his wide chest rising and falling with the air filling his lungs. Elio kept his cheek pressed against Oliver’s shoulder, closed his eyes for a moment.

“I think we need to get you a maid,” Oliver said. He took another sip of his whiskey, then placed it on the mantelpiece. “As you settle here in Manderley, you’ll need some help and assistance. I want you to be looked after.”

Elio pulled back a little. “Oh, but I - I’m fine, really. Edward helps me, I don’t think I need -“

He couldn’t finish his sentence, because Oliver’s hands went to cup around his face, making him look up, holding him firmly.

“Edward is not your butler.” His eyes were firm, dark blue. 

Elio frowned, lightly, uncomprehending. He didn’t want to be a burden, another reason of worry for the staff at Manderley. This is why he didn’t want his own assistant. 

“You’ll be assigned a maid. Mrs Danvers already has someone in mind.”

Mrs Danvers. Of course. 

Elio held Oliver’s eyes. He looked serious, waiting. And so Elio took a breath, and nodded. “Okay.”

Oliver’s expression relaxed immediately.

“Good.” His thumbs stroked Elio’s cheekbones. “I think it’ll help.”

Elio nodded again. 

“So we’ll be staying in Manderley for a while longer, then?” he asked, tentatively.

“Yes. A little while longer.” Oliver stroked him again, then reached down to press his lips against his. 

Later on, sat at the table in the main hall after lunch, next to Oliver who was smoking and reading a newspaper, Elio thought.

If they were to stay in Manderley for a while - he didn’t know how long, he wasn’t sure if even Oliver knew, but for some weeks at least - he needed to be a little more in control. He needed to know more about the mansion, about what was going on. He needed to show he was the man of the house.

Edward had mentioned a tailor. Perhaps he could ask him, so he could arrange for some clothes to be made to order. He needed some, to wear in Manderley, and for his wedding to Oliver - which he was going to start to plan. 

And he needed to speak to Mrs Danvers. 

He stood, placing his linen napkin back on the table from where he’d made sure to lay it neatly on his lap. 

Oliver looked up; smiled. 

“You leaving?”

“I have some matters to sort,” Elio said, trying to sound as grown up and as respectable as he could. 

“Some matters, hey...” Oliver said. He still had a smile on his face, and he put out his cigar on the ashtray, his newspaper on the table, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Elio’s wrist. He tugged; and Elio let himself be pulled towards Oliver, though with playful reluctance. 

“Oliver... seriously. I have stuff to do,” he said, forgetting all about using proper words. 

Oliver turned his chair out, and tugged on Elio’s wrist again, pulling the boy forward and making him straddle his legs. He pulled down until Elio sat down on him; his grip on the bones of Elio’s delicate wrist firm, one that Elio could not free himself from. 

Despite himself, Elio felt a frisson of heat run under his skin. 

“You have stuff to do,” Oliver repeated, his voice lower, looking up into Elio. He nudged Elio’s arms to wrap around his neck; Oliver’s hand sliding down to hold onto Elio’s hips, hard. 

“Yeah, I do,” Elio murmured. He could feel Oliver, already hard beneath him. He closed his eyes for a moment. 

“Maybe one of the things you have to do is to give your future husband some attention, Mister De Winter?” 

Oliver was being playful - but his eyes, a dark turquoise now, burned into Elio’s. His hands gripped harder around Elio’s hips and pulled them forward, into Oliver’s groin. 

“That wouldn’t be a very respectable thing for - for the man of the house to do.” 

Elio’s voice was no more than a breath. 

He wasn’t putting up a very firm display of disagreement, he knew that. As always, Oliver had such a power over him, especially when he wanted to seduce him. But Elio was very aware they were in the dining hall, in the open. He was aware of the two servants, standing on each side of the door to the hallway, waiting for any orders from them. He was aware they were watching. 

“The man of the house can do whatever he wants. He can let his fiancé make love to him in the middle of the dining hall, if he wants to. He can tell everyone to leave.”

Oliver’s voice was also a low murmur. Playful, still, but with a glint in his eyes that resembled something feral. 

It was intoxicating and addictive, and thrilling, to be wanted so much. Elio could not look away. And a moment later, he leaned down and joined their lips into a kiss, which Oliver returned, immediately deep and intense. 

Oliver still held Elio’s hips in his hands, pulling him against himself in a rhythm. He was hard, and Elio was becoming hard, too. 

“I have things to do,” Elio attempted one last time, but it was weak, his voice barely a whisper over Oliver’s lips. His eyes half lidded. 

“Tell them,” Oliver said, on his mouth. “Order them to leave.”

Elio’s heart skipped a beat. He would have never been able to do such a thing, normally. He didn’t know how to give orders; he would have never even dreamt of telling staff to leave a room, and because he wanted to be intimate with someone in it. 

But Oliver held his eyes; and that’s what Elio had wanted to become. The man of the house. 

And the man of the house could do whatever he wanted. 

He took a breath, and turned in the direction of the two servers. 

“Leave us. Please,” he said, his voice louder so they could hear. “No one is to come here until I tell you.”

He watched them as they nodded in response, and left, quickly, scuttled away. 

He turned back to Oliver, a thrill of excitement, of pride, in his veins. 

Oliver purred against his lips. 

“Good boy.” 

And then kissed him again. 


	21. Not here

In his bedroom, later, Elio set his jaw.

He needed to speak to Mrs Danvers. 

Edward was right - he needed to learn. He needed to become good at managing a household. And Oliver clearly wanted him to.

So he’d asked one of the staff to summon Mrs Danvers to his room. 

He took a breath, and walked to the large window that looked into the back garden.

The sharp, short sound of a knock on the door made him jump. He turned around, and saw the door opening, Mrs Danvers not waiting for him to call back to her before entering the room.

“Hi - I mean, good afternoon Mrs Danvers,” Elio said. Lifted his chin - he’d learnt that it made him seem more authoritative. He still felt intimidated, but he was going to try to hide it.

Mrs Danvers stood a few feet from him, her arms, as always, crossed on her chest. 

“You asked to see me?”

Elio forced himself to keep his face set. He needed to learn from her - he needed to learn to be like her. Betray no feelings or expressions with his face when he needed to.

“Yes. I will be sending orders for outfits for myself, as the man of the house. But being new to Manderley, I request your help. I need to be clear on the requirements and type of outfits I will need for different engagements.” It had taken a lot to make himself say that he needed her help - but he had succeeded. “You have a lot of experience with Manderley, of course, so you should be best placed to advise me.”

He forced himself to hold her eyes. Mrs Danvers seemed to be studying him; her usual aloof demeanour betraying a hint of curiosity.

“I see,” she said, after a few moments. She walked closer to him. Elio made himself stand still, but keeping his stance proud, not letting her intimidate him.

“You understand I was working with Mistress Elise. Her physique and body shape were completely different from yours, of course.”

“Well, yes - she was a woman, and I’m not.” Elio could not stop himself. He knew he should not try to antagonise her - but that was something he could not avoid saying.

“Oh no, it’s not just that, my dear.” Mrs Danvers stepped even closer. “Mistress Elise was beautifully lean. Slender. She had the right amount of muscle to look in shape but not manly. She was neither overweight nor underweight.” She reached out with a hand; her index finger under Elio’s chin, she made him lift his face. 

“You are thin. You are tall, but very small at the same time.” She let him go, frowned at him. “Your skin is obviously immaculate right now but that’s just because of your age, you are but a child. That paleness makes your mouth look red - I bet Master Oliver loves that. He certainly loved the beautiful crimson of Elise’s lips when she painted them.”

Elio set his jaw, but forced himself to not react. She was trying to get a rise out of him, as always.

“Needless to say your looks will change with age. Fade, even. And you need to eat more, I have already told you this. I see Master Oliver loves to be able to manhandle you - well, half of the Manderley staff have seen this now, to be frank.” Her words ended almost in a sneer. “But being so thin is not healthy, no matter what Master Oliver prefers.”

A reference to his encounter with Oliver in the dining hall earlier that day. Of course. Mrs Danvers would have never let that go without using it to her advantage.

“Sit down,” Mrs Danvers said then, motioning to the chair in front of the vanity. 

Elio took a breath, and did as she asked.

“Your hair,” she started. She was looking straight at him from the reflection on the mirror. “Elise had beautiful, long, straight hair. Not this dark, but a light chestnut, almost blonde. A more fitting colour, for the lady of the house.” She raised her eyebrows. “Your hair is so curly. Too thick, too messy. Impossible to brush.” She paused for a moment, still eyeing Elio’s hair, as if it was offensive to her. “Master Oliver loved brushing Elise’s hair.”

Elio could not listen anymore. 

He stood sharply, turned around so that he was facing Mrs Danvers. His jaw was still set, but he now felt a heat, underneath his skin, which he decided not to ignore.

“Listen,” he started, holding his fingers around the wooden edge of the vanity to stop them shaking out of nerves. “I’m not Elise. Okay. I know that. You know that, Oliver knows that. But I am with Oliver now and he wants me.”

He watched as Mrs Danvers’s eyebrows shot upwards, her expressionless face still somehow the picture of shock. 

He swallowed, and told himself to slow down. He’d made his point.

“We will be here for a while. And I need your help. I’m here to learn. I know I’m not Elise, but you can help me be as good as her.”

“Nobody could be as good as her,” Mrs Danvers shot back, her lips into a thin line.

Elio closed his eyes, reminded himself to keep calm. “Fine. Not as good as her. But good enough. Oliver wants me to be.”

Mrs Danvers stared. After the first moment of apparent shock at Elio’s reaction, she’d regained her impassiveness quickly - and now looked at him with a strange curiosity.

“You want me to help you be as good as Oliver wants?”

Elio nodded. “Yes. I do. I need your advice. Because I am sure that you want what’s good for him.”

Mrs Danvers’s lips stretched slightly. “Of course. I do.”

“Good,” Elio nodded again. “So it’s settled. This is all for now.”

Mrs Danvers was dismissed. Elio was surprised at the ease in which he was starting to be able to give commands.

“Very well,” Mrs Danvers said. With no other words, she left.

And Elio, finally, felt like he could breathe.

He turned back around, towards the mirror on the vanity. Looking at himself, at that body that Mrs Danvers seemed to think was so wrong, but which Oliver always praised him for. 

He opened one of the vanity drawers, pulling out a brush, the handle made of tortoiseshell and smooth in his hand. 

He brought it up to his hair. Attempted to press it to his curls to brush through them. They were thick, and they were tight, it was true. But Oliver loved them. He loved to sink his fingers in Elio’s hair, loved to squeeze and pull a little.

Elio pulled the brush away from his hair - and then he saw it. On the back of it, a name, engraved in golden tones. 

_~Elise~_

He set his jaw, and threw the brush to the ground, listening with satisfaction to the noise of it falling heavily onto the marble of the floor.

“Please, please stop Oliver, please I can’t breathe!” Elio cried, later that night. He was laughing so much his eyes were watering, and he tried to slap Oliver’s hands away from where they were trying, and succeeding, to tickle his ribs.

On his side on the bed, hovering over a supine Elio, Oliver chuckled, full of amusement.

“Then say it,” he ordered playfully, his hand laying on the bed cover still trying to reach Elio’s side and tickle. “Say it, or I will continue.”

“I love you. I love you I love you,” Elio acquiesced, his voice still full of laughter though he was keeping his eye on Oliver and ready to try and escape any new attempt at tickling that may come from him. “You know I was joking. I like you telling me that you love me. And I like telling you.”

Oliver looked at him. His lips relaxed into a more gentle smile; he stroked a curl away from Elio’s forehead.

“I want to hear you say it every night,” he purred, low. He leant down, started a kiss, one that was gentle at first but quickly became deeper and more intense, leaving Elio breathless at the end of it.

Elio held his eyes. Smiled at him.

“I wanted to tell you that - I’ve started planning our wedding. Today.”

Oliver kissed his fingers. “Have you.”

“Yeah,” Elio nodded. “I was thinking that - we have it here? The house is huge, and we have all the staff, and Mrs Danvers, and we can -“

“No.”

Oliver’s voice sounded stern. Elio frowned.

“No?”

“Not here. We shouldn’t do it here.”

“But, why not,” Elio frowned deeper, looking up into Oliver. “There’s so much space, we have everything here, and -“

“Elio, I said no.” Oliver’s face had lost all of its previous playfulness, and his eyes were icy for a moment. Then he looked away, and it was as if he was aware of how abrupt he’d been. When he looked back at Elio in the eyes, his blue irises were warm again. “We can get married in America. Or in Europe. Wherever you want. Just not here.”

Elio was still frowning, confused. 

“But you still have things to do here. We can’t go anywhere until you’re done, that’s what you said.”

“We’ll do it once I’m done,” Oliver stroked Elio’s lower lip with a thumb. “Once I’m done, we’ll go wherever you want and we’ll get married.” He pecked Elio’s lips. “Sounds good?”

Elio was still frowning. He was still confused - but didn’t really know what to say. He couldn’t understand where this had come from.

He just nodded. “Yes. Okay,” he said.

And Oliver smiled again. “Good boy.” He pulled up to standing, took off his shirt, and then leant over Elio, kissing his forehead, before disappearing into the en suite bathroom of Elio’s room to wash before bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading and leaving comments. I am seriously grateful to you. 
> 
> I was feeling a little disheartened and was thinking of putting this fic on hiatus, to be honest - hopefully I won’t have to. In the meantime however, thank you again to everyone who reads, comments and makes me feel like I’m not talking to myself here :)


	22. Conversation closed

“What’s gotten into you today,” Elio laughed one Sunday, a few days later.

Oliver was kissing down his throat, the middle of his chest, and looking up at him with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

He’d wanted to be lazy today - sleeping in late, having their breakfast in bed, and then had wanted to stay in bed even longer. It was almost lunchtime; they had already had sex three times.

“Why. Do you mind?” Oliver growled, playful and flirty. He pressed his lips into Elio’s left nipple. Sucked. Elio closed his eyes, arched his back lightly, whined. His nipples felt sore, and Oliver’s mouth and teeth on them gave him little burning jolts every time he sucked and licked. But it also felt so good, and Elio just wanted it to go on forever.

Oliver crawled back up to him, kissed him on the mouth. At the end, he held Elio’s bottom lip between his teeth; let them sink in slightly. 

Elio’s eyes were flashing by the time he was done.

“Have you gone crazy,” he murmured, gently, looking into Oliver’s eyes, stroking his fringe away from his forehead.

Oliver just smiled. “Are you okay? Or are you sore?”

It took Elio a moment to focus on the question. They had made love three times in the space of a few hours. He felt good, endorphins cursing through his veins and making him feel full, satisfied. But yes, physically, he did feel a little sore.

“Maybe a little,” he said, sincerely. 

Oliver kissed his lips again.

He pulled up on his elbow, giving Elio’s lower body some space. 

“Open your legs, baby.”

Elio, of course, would have never not listened to that voice. To the way Oliver spoke during sex - warm, rough, in between a purr and a growl, from deep within his throat. 

So he did as he was asked. Oliver kissed him again, deep, his tongue caressing Elio; his hand travelled back between Elio’s thighs. Elio felt two fingers push at his entrance, gentle but firm enough. He thought his body would rebel, close up, and instead the tips of Oliver’s fingers pressed in, slow but steady. 

But it hurt, as much as Elio tried to stay relaxed, his body feeling the exertion. He moaned into Oliver’s mouth, fingers clawing at the hair on Oliver’s nape, back arching and tensing. “Hurts,” he whispered on Oliver’s mouth.

“Okay. Just one?,” Oliver pulled his fingers out, pressing one on the return. Elio closed his eyes. It felt better, but his body still tightened up in protest. 

He opened his eyes; Oliver was looking at him, his expression one of awe. He wasn’t moving his hand; just holding there.

“You’re so beautiful,” Oliver murmured. “So stunning.”

And Elio felt almost in a haze. Hypnotised. His chest felt full, his cheeks warm, hot in fact, as if he were running a fever. He felt exhausted and yet full of adrenaline. 

Oliver leant down again to start another kiss, and Elio gave it his all. He clenched around the finger in his body, moaned into Oliver’s mouth, licked and bit at his lips, as Oliver kissed and kissed him.

When Oliver pulled back, freeing his hand, the sense of both relief and emptiness was quickly replaced by the feel of the older man’s lips on his chest, down his abdomen, kissing each of his hips.

“Do you want to do this with me?” Oliver asked, his voice husky and low. He was kissing the side of Elio’s sex, and Elio found it hard even to think. 

“Do - what?” he made himself answer.

Oliver smiled, and it was tender. 

He pulled up; moved to lay on the bed on his back. 

“Here. Sit on me,” he patted to his chest. 

Elio frowned, confused; but did as he was asked. Oliver guided him, and Elio straddled Oliver’s chest, his back to Oliver’s face, his own gaze directed toward Oliver’s lower body.

“Put your mouth on me, darling,” Oliver ordered gently.

Elio had never done that before. But Oliver had done it to him; and he knew it felt good. He bent over; held Oliver’s sex at the base, and wrapped his lips around it.

He heard a sigh. Then Oliver’s hand clasped around Elio’s narrow hips, lifted them and pulled them backwards, so they were on Oliver’s face, so Oliver could put his mouth around him too. Elio almost helped in surprise; the sudden warmth. The tightness. The movement of Oliver’s tongue. God, it felt divine.

He doubled his efforts, wanting to ensure that he was making Oliver feel just as good. He pushed himself down, down until his gag reflex kicked in and he coughed a little, pulled back up. Oliver growled gently and so Elio tried again, sucking with all the strength he could muster.

He knew Oliver was going to come soon. And Oliver had not moved his mouth away when he had done it to him. So Elio continued, held still when Oliver’s hips started moving in small thrusts. Then closed his eyes tight, and let the warmth of Oliver’s release do what it needed to do - coat his mouth, slide down his throat, a little spilling out from his lips. 

Oliver had moaned louder at that. Elio was almost breathless, and then he cried out again when Oliver’s mouth moved from his sex to his entrance, his hands guiding his hips, Oliver’s tongue pushing in, warm, velvety, soothing and yet arousing him. 

Elio pushed up on his hands, practically sitting on Oliver’s face now, letting Oliver’s fingers guide his hips and throwing his head back, crying out in sheer pleasure at the orgasm that tore through his body. 

Elio was somewhere in between sleep and wake, a few minutes later. If this was what bliss felt like, then he thought he could definitely spend a lot of time in this state.

Behind him, holding an arm around his waist, Oliver had his lips pressed against Elio’s nape.

And Elio thought he had finally nodded off, when his fiancé spoke.

“Why did you go into town with Edward yesterday?”

Elio blinked his eyes. Trying to chase away some of his haziness so that he could think about that question.

He didn’t even remember he’d gone on a drive with Edward yesterday.

He took a breath, rubbed at one of his eyes.

“I needed to buy shoes. He knows a good shoemaker.”

A few moments of silence. Elio could feel Oliver’s warm breathing on his skin.

“I told you he’s not your personal butler.”

Elio held his breath. “I know that. I didn’t mean - I don’t mean to treat him like my personal butler, I just - he offered to take me there. He said he could help.”

“He suggested you go?”

“Yes, he - has a lot of contacts.”

“Did he seek you out.”

Oliver’s voice was flat. It wasn’t loud, and yet, Elio could hear the danger in his tone. 

He hesitated for a moment.

“Yes. He did.”

Another moment of silence. Oliver was still holding him, and Elio tried to read his body, tried to feel any tension or stress coming from him.

“I am going to tell Edward he can’t spend time with you again.” Oliver’s voice was firm. “He’s not your butler. And more importantly, he’s not your friend. He needs to stop acting like he is.”

Elio turned around to face Oliver. 

He shook his head.

“But I don’t mind. I -“

“But I do,” Oliver said, and now Elio could see his jaw was set. “He needs to remember his place. He needs to remember boundaries.” He turned, too, so he was lying on his back, looking to the ceiling. Avoiding Elio’s gaze.

“Oliver. It’s really not an issue and if he-“

“You are to be married to me,” Oliver turned to him. His eyes were intense. “You are mine. He would do well to remember that.”

He held Elio’s eyes for another moment. Then, he looked back up to the ceiling.

Elio’s heart beat fast. He didn’t know what had just happened. He felt winded; he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t make himself. Didn’t even know what he was thinking. How to even articulate his thoughts.

He stayed quiet; watching Oliver, as the man closed his eyes, brought the back of his hand to cover them, his face still contorted into a frown and tense. But clearly, considering the conversation closed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little smutty chapter for Halloween... 
> 
> Please do leave me a comment if you have read so far x


	23. Shock

Book on his lap, Elio sat on a chair, in the dining hall.

Facing the glass door, and looking out at the garden, he held a mug of hot coffee in his hands. 

It was raining, outside; the sky was grey, and it was windy, the raindrops dancing on the soft ground and forming puddles already.

He was alone. He and Oliver had had breakfast together, but then Oliver had stood, and kissed his forehead, telling him he needed to go to his study. 

Elio had nodded; let him go with a faint ‘okay’. He was distracted. Thinking.

There were so many things, now, that, added up, made it very clear there were exchanges, conversations, and dynamics in that house that were mysterious and that Elio could not understand.

And he was more and more curious, more and more piqued by these going ons, as time progressed.

He took a sip of his coffee. Looked outside, at a few leaves being carried into a tiny vortex by the wind on the floor of the patio.

Edward seemed friendly, but now Oliver didn’t want him spending time with him. 

It couldn’t be just jealousy, surely. Elio wondered if there was something else, behind it.

A clinking noise pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned back, towards the table; as if summoned by his pondering, Edward stood there, tidying up after their breakfast.

“Hey, Edward,” Elio greeted. The man looked up. Smiled at him, though it was careful.

“Hello, Elio.”

Elio bit his lip. Thought about what to say.

“You weren’t even going to say hi?” He didn’t care if it sounded pathetic. He needed to start somewhere.

Edward kept working, his eyes on the cutlery he was putting away to be cleaned.

“Apologies, young master. I was busy.”

Elio sighed. Clutching his mug, he stood, and walked towards Edward.

“Please, Edward. Don’t give me that. I know that Oliver spoke to you.” Then, more softly: “and call me Elio. Please.”

Edward sighed.

“Master Oliver advised it is best if I do my job without much contact with you, Master Elio.”

The words made Elio roll his eyes. It was a habit he’d really tried to forget, but right now, he really couldn’t help it.

“You weren’t doing anything wrong, Edward!”

The butler finished with the cutlery, having placed everything in a caddy he was carrying. He started folding the table cloth, getting it ready for laundry. He still wasn’t looking at Elio. 

“I’m sorry, but it was his decision. Maybe you should find out from him, what his reasons are.”

There was a hint of bitterness in his tone, one that Elio had never heard before. 

The boy shook his head, frustrated.

“He’s in his study. He won’t be out for hours. And I’ll be alone for the whole time meanwhile.”

“Go to his study, and ask him, then.”

Elio had to do a double take at Edward’s words, thinking he’d heard wrong.

“Go - to his study? But he’s - he’s working, and it’s important, I’m not - I’m not allowed to-“ he babbled.

Finally, Edward looked at him in the eyes.

“You are the man of the house, young master. Who says you’re not allowed? You’re allowed to go wherever you please. Do whatever you want.”

He’d spoken more slowly. His voice clear, as much as it was still quiet. 

What he said echoed Oliver’s words a few days before - the man of the house could do whatever he wanted. 

And Elio bit his lower lip. He really wanted to see Oliver. Talk and ask and hear his explanations.

“Will you remind me where to go? I’ve only been there once, and didn’t even go in. I’m not sure I could remember,” he asked, trying to sound convincing and firm, though his heart was thumping in his chest out of nervousness.

“Of course,” Edward said. His eyes gleamed.

Elio’s hand trembled a little when he got ready to knock on the door to Oliver’s study. 

He was surrounded by darkness, the narrow hallway that led to the study immersed in it. He tried not to look at all the paintings and black and white pictures that hung on those walls, tried not to think of the people captured in them and how it felt like they were looking at him. Especially Elise, sitting on her ivory chair, with her green dress and pearls. Her eyes on his back.

He knocked again, tentatively.

He heard the sound of footsteps; then a man, an older man, with a beard and small, round glasses, opened the door.

Behind him, Elio could see Oliver. Sitting at a round table, a bunch of papers in front of him. As soon as Oliver saw him, he stood, his jaw set, and walked to the door.

“What are you doing here, Elio?” he asked, his voice stern.

Elio felt so nervous. But he was the man of the house. He should know what was going on in  his  house. Like Mrs Danvers said - Elise always  knew.

“I would like to come in,” he said, forcing his voice to stay as steady as it could. “I need to speak to you.”

“This is not the time, Elio,” Oliver took a further step towards him. The man with the glasses stepped away, back to the table.

“Why? I want to speak to you. Let me in, please.”

Oliver pressed his lips together, frowning, and stepped out of the room, grabbing Elio by the arms and pulling him away from the door.

“What’s wrong with you? You know I’m working. You know you’re not allowed here while I work!”

“Why?” Elio struggled against Oliver’s hands that held his wrists up in an iron grip. “I can do whatever I want. You said. And I want to see the study. Want to know what you’re working on. Want to speak to you.”

“This is not the time for you to be a child. Do as I say,” Oliver insisted.

And Elio pulled his arms away, full of frustration. 

“Then don’t treat me like a child!” he said, his voice louder. “Let me in and talk to me!”

Oliver did not respond, seemingly shocked at Elio’s rebellion. And so Elio grit his teeth, and then turned, squeezing past Oliver and finally, entering the room.

What he saw knocked all the wind out of his chest.

The man with the glasses wasn’t the only one at the table. Two more, older men sat there, too, all with piles of papers in front of them. There was a leather bound book file, there on the table. A label was printed on it; and when Elio’s eyes fell on it, his blood ran cold.

In bold black letter the label read: 

  
  


**ELISE DE WINTER**

**MURDER CASE**

The men around the table seemed shocked enough to see Elio there, the shock forcing them into silence. 

Elio closed his hands into fists; stood there, frozen and uncomprehending, for something that felt like hours. 

Until Oliver’s voice, flat, low, dangerous, reached him from behind him. 

“Elio. Come out immediately.”

Elio made himself breathe. He felt frozen, completely cold, in shock. He knew there was no point in standing there, in that room, with those men’s judgemental, disapproving eyes on him. 

Slowly, he retraced his steps, returning to the hallway, and the darkness of it. He looked ahead of him, at the dark wall; Elise’s image smiled at him from the painting, seemed knowing, now. 

He heard Oliver shift, then close the door. He stayed in the hallway with him, though. And a moment later, he spoke. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

He walked ahead, along the hallway, though towards the opposite side to where Elio had come from. His jaw set, Elio followed him. 

There was obviously an alternative path to Elio’s room, because after a door and a set of stairs, they reached it. Oliver had been quiet the whole of the walk, and Elio had not uttered a word either, refused almost to even breathe. 

Oliver opened the door; Elio walked in. 

And then, the silence started to panic him. He knew something was going to happen. 

“I asked you not to disturb me when I’m working,” Oliver said, quietly. 

“I needed to speak to you, Oliver. I was alone. Edward won’t talk to me, won’t even say hi. What was I supposed to do?!”

“You have Mrs Danvers. You’ll have your own maid soon.”

“Oliver, please!” Elio cried. “You know it’s not the same.”

Oliver’s eyes were steely. 

“I’m tired of your tantrums, Elio. You have everything. You can’t even do the one thing that I ask you to do.”

“I have done everything you have asked me to do, Oliver! Everything! But things are so mysterious and confusing, can you blame me for wanting to know? Can you blame me for asking?”

“Asking is one thing! Barging into my study while I’m working is a completely different matter!”

“While you’re working? What are you working on? Why is Elise’s a murder case?? What are you hiding from me??”

“Enough!”

The sound was what Elio remembered, more than the pain. More than the sensation of the back of Oliver’s hand hitting his cheek, it was the sharp shock of the noise that Elio noticed. 

He took a step back. The pain starting a few moments later, and so he raised a hand to press his palm against his cheekbone. He held wide, shocked eyes into Oliver. 

And the older man looked just as shocked as Elio did. 

He stood, eyes just as wide, pale as a ghost. His hands down by his side, the one he’d hit Elio with, trembling. His eyes were bright, wet. 

Through his own tears, Elio watched him take steps back, until he reached the door. Then, his expression utterly broken, he opened the door, closed it back behind him and left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know. This is dark. But bear with me!! 
> 
> And please do comment if you are reading! Your comments are my sounding board and I can’t continue without your feedback xx


	24. Stop thinking

  
Curled up in bed, Elio thought. 

He thought, and thought. Thought about what happened. Thought about everything - about what had brought him here, about Manderley. About his future. 

He wasn’t crying, no. He wanted to; and he’d cried, for long minutes, or hours, he couldn’t even remember nor he thought he even knew to begin with.   
But crying didn’t solve anything. Crying didn’t allow him clarity of thought, it didn’t help with his problems. With the fact that he loved someone who seemed so set on shutting him out of his life and his feelings. 

Elio wanted to cry, but actually, he’d brushed away tears from his face long ago, opting instead to take some time to think, to decide what to do.   
His jaw set, he curled up into a tighter ball on his bed. The satin sheets jarringly pleasant and comforting on his skin; they still smelled of Oliver. He still felt Oliver, inside his body, from when they had made love last night. 

But he also felt him in the skin of his cheek, tender where Oliver’s hand had collided with it in anger. 

Elio had never been hit before, by anyone. 

He breathed in, and grit his teeth, brushing a lone, stray tear away from his eye begrudgingly.   
It was by his own doing that he now found himself in that situation. It was down to him to get himself out. 

Except. Except he felt things for Oliver that he had never felt for anybody before. Except Oliver had said he loved him. 

Elio brushed another tear away from his eye. He couldn’t make himself believe that it was all a lie. He just could not believe that. 

But there were so many things that didn’t make any sense, so many things he felt like he was being kept in the dark of. And now, that ‘murder case’ label on that file still flashed in front of his eyes.   
Murder case. Elise had been murdered. 

Elio didn’t even want to think of the possibilities.   
He shivered. 

A knock on the door made him jump. 

He decided to ignore it. He didn’t want to see anyone.  
But the knock came again, and then a voice, a female, tentative voice, called his name. 

“Master Elio? Sorry to bother you, Master Elio. I’m Clarice. Your maid, sir.”

Maid? Elio blinked. In everything that had happened, he’d forgotten Oliver had said he would be assigned a maid.   
He really didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and especially to a new person - but it didn’t seem like the girl was going to leave. When she called again, ‘Master Elio, are you there?’, Elio could not bring himself to be rude to her. 

He got up, slowly, and went to open the door. 

“Oh. Good evening, Master Elio,” the girl greeted - though her smile fell a little when she looked at Elio properly. Elio knew the red around his eyes must be very evident right now. 

“I’m - I’m Clarice. I’ll be your maid. I just wanted to check if there was anything I could help you with.”

Elio bit his lower lip, looking at the girl. She seemed young, though not his age, but in her early twenties perhaps. She had a kind, somehow naive face, and ash blonde hair in a bun. She was wearing a uniform, just like all the staff at Manderley. 

Elio took a breath. 

“I don’t really need anything right now Clarice, but thank you,” he said, hoping to be left alone for a little longer. 

Clarice seemed confused. 

“Are you sure? Would you not like something to eat?”

Elio shook his head quickly. “No, I’m fine.”

“But,” Clarice started again. “Master Oliver asked me to check. He said you would probably want to eat something by now.”

Elio frowned. Hesitated. “He asked you?”

“Yes, Master Elio,” Clarice nodded. She was wringing her hands together, as if in worry. “He seemed very concerned.”

Her eyes were grey, and wide. Elio set his jaw, swallowed. 

“I don’t need food. And I don’t need his concern. You can tell him that.”

The maid’s eyes went wide, in pure shock, her eyebrows shooting up. She was genuinely surprised.   
“I -“

“I need to go and rest now. Thank you, but - “ Elio hesitated. Thought of the right word. “You’re dismissed, Clarice,” he said, keeping his voice firm. 

Then, he closed the door, hoping Clarice would heed his wishes. 

Elio didn’t know how long he’d slept for. He hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep.   
When he opened his eyes, and rubbed a hand over them, groggily, the slice of sky he could see through the window was much darker than it had been before he’d fallen asleep. 

Resting had not been helpful. He still felt tired, and now he did feel also hungry, if he were to be honest with himself.   
He looked at the clock: it was past six in the evening. By this time, Oliver would usually come out of the study, having finished his work for the day. And yet, he had not come to see Elio, or at least tried to. 

Elio grit his teeth. He wasn’t going to stay in that room, locked and alone like a prisoner, starving and ignored by everyone. He was the man of the house. He was going to take the driver and go into town, find some place to eat and think. Decide what to do. 

He wore a jacket over his jumper since the evenings were starting to feel colder, and went to leave - except, on the other side of the door, there Clarice was.

“Hi, Master Elio!” she greeted, and, despite himself, Elio wanted to like her. Finally someone in that house who didn’t follow etiquette to a T and who acted a little more like a human.   
“Can I help you with anything?”

Since she was there, Elio thought, she might as well be useful.

“Yes, Clarice. I - can you please call the driver? Have him be ready, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Clarice’s eyes seemed to want to stay permanently wide. 

“The driver? Sure, sure I can. Where will you be going, Master Elio?”

“Into town,” Elio replied, not giving any details. 

“On your own? Would you like me to call Master Oliver to go with you?”

“No!” Elio stopped himself; breathed. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know the situation. “No. I’m going on my own.”

Clarice still seemed confused, but nodded, and quickly left towards the stairs, heading down to call the driver as she had been asked to do. 

  
Elio had hoped to sneak out unnoticed, and as if my miracle, there was no one downstairs when he reached the door.   
Elio was able to leave and get into the car, without any questions being asked of him. If Oliver of anyone else queried where he could be, he supposed Clarice could tell them. He didn’t want to think about it for now.   
He just wanted to get away for a while. 

In town, he asked the driver to drop him off in the small city centre. He didn’t know it very well, but he supposed he could go for a walk, clear his mind. 

And then, not even an hour later, he saw a familiar face, walking along the Main Street.   
Edward. 

  
“So what happened?” 

Elio held his hands tighter around his mug of hot chocolate, and looked at Edward, sat across from him at the table in the small cafe they’d gone to. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Edward nodded. “Is Master Oliver alright?” 

“He got mad. He’s really mad at me,” Elio said, sadly. Pulled at a lose thread on the sleeve of his jumper, looking down at it, biting his lower lip. “But I am mad at him too,” he added. And it was the truth. 

He looked up when Edward reached out, the tips of his index finger just hovering over Elio’s cheekbone, where it was still tender - he could probably see a bruise.   
The butler pulled his hand back, and then spoke. 

“Master Oliver can - he has a temper. He always did.”

Elio looked back down. His fingers still tormenting the lose thread, his chest tightening. “He’s never been this mad at me before. We’ve never had such a fight before.”

“You’ve known him for a short time, haven’t you?” Edward said, and his voice was careful. “He had a temper before, with Mistress Elise. We heard them fight many times.”

Elio bit his lower lip harder.   
“What did they fight about?”

Edward sighed, and looked away, pulling out a cigarette and matches, and lighting one of them. Elio had never seen him smoke before. 

“Well. He’s jealous. Very possessive. Just like he’s being with you.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “He wanted to control her. He thought she was having an affair. Which was nonsense, of course.”

Elio watched Edward smirk as he spoke. 

“Then one day, they went on a weekend trip. And she was dead.” 

He wasn’t looking at Elio. But Elio kept his eyes on him, frowning, lips pursed.   
“You’re not saying that...”

“Oh, I’m not saying anything, Master Elio,” Edward smirked again, took another drag of his cigarette. “You should draw your own conclusions.”

Elio pursed his lips again, looked away. His face felt so warm, his heart thumping in his chest. 

No. He couldn’t believe that. Not Oliver. Oliver wasn’t a murderer. 

Exhaling the last of his cigarette smoke, Edward pushed it into the ashtray on the table in between them.   
“So, what do you think,” he said, his face suddenly changing, no longer somber, but smiling. “Shall we have something...nicer to drink? Seems like you’ve had enough bad thoughts for today, perhaps some distraction would be good.”

Elio frowned at him. “Don’t you have to come back to Manderley?”

“I told you. I am off this afternoon. I’ll go and order for the both of us, so you can try something different.” 

  
Elio wasn’t sure what time it was, by the time the driver pulled up into the driveway at Manderley.   
The sky was fully dark now. And Elio felt so tired. He felt dizzy; and if he closed his eyes, a wave of nausea appeared from nowhere which he could only fight by breathing deeply. 

He’d only had two glasses of wine, but it was certainly too much for him already, especially on an empty stomach.   
He blinked his eyes; his vision was blurry. 

When the car finally stopped, and Elio was able to get out, he took a deep breath, the fresh, chilly night air helping to fight the nausea but making him shiver in his light jacket. 

A little wobbly, he started to make his way to the entrance, closing his eyes every now and then to clear his vision.   
Damn his stupid decision to drink. Damn Edward for suggesting it. He hadn’t come back in the car with him, said he was going to stay in town overnight, telling Elio not to tell anyone, and especially Oliver, that they had met that evening, albeit by accident.   
And as much as Elio didn’t want to lie, he also didn’t want to risk another argument with Oliver. Certainly not. 

The Porter opened the door to him immediately, and Elio walked in, wishing he were in his room already.   
He was tired, and dizzy, and felt so weak. He needed water. He just wanted to sleep. Pass out, sleep for a long while, and not have to think about what his life had become at least for a bit. 

And instead, a familiar voice called his name. 

“Elio?”

Oliver was there. Sitting by the table in the main hall. Alone. He stood when he saw Elio, his face set, eyebrows knitted in a frown. 

Elio swallowed, and closed his eyes, trying to breathe, and calm the beating of his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments!! Please keep them coming xx


	25. Questions

“Elio.” 

Oliver’s voice was no more than a whisper - and his eyes scanned Elio, his expression worried. 

Elio set his jaw. He was nauseous, and dizzy, and tired. He didn’t want to deal with this. He looked away, and forced himself to walk to the stairs, hoping and praying to have enough energy to reach his bedroom, and to close the door behind himself, go to sleep and not have to deal with any of this until the next day. 

“Elio, wait,” Oliver called. 

“No. Leave me alone.” 

Elio felt his heart thrum in his chest. He felt lightheaded. His eyes were veiled with tears, whether because he was upset, or because he felt sick, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t even see properly. He reached the end of the stairs, and sat down on the bottom step, his head in his hands, wishing the world to stop spinning around him. 

“Elio. Baby. Please let me help you.”

Elio didn’t open his eyes, but he could feel that Oliver was close, really close. He didn’t want to open his eyes and find him there, next to him and looking concerned. He wanted him to go away. 

But the truth was that he felt so weak, and sick, with nausea and with upset. He didn’t think he was going to be able to move. There was no one else around to help, and he certainly didn’t want Mrs Danvers to see him in that state.   
And despite himself he really, really wanted to feel Oliver’s arms around him. Strong, warm, reassuring. 

When Oliver nudged him gently towards himself, Elio didn’t put up a fight. When Oliver picked him up, Elio wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck and hid his face into his shoulder, gritting his teeth and focussing on ignoring the waves of nausea.   
He almost didn’t notice they were back in his bedroom until he felt Oliver deposit him carefully on the bed, the fresh bedsheets and pillow case feeling heavenly on his skin. 

Elio didn’t want to open his eyes - he just wanted to go to sleep. 

“Here, drink some water,” he heard Oliver say. And he was so thirsty - so he did, reaching out for the glass of water by his bedside table, downing it all in one go, his eyes closed almost the whole time.   
Then, he curled up on top of the covers, knees tight against his chest, eyes shut.   
He hoped for Oliver to leave.   
And he hoped for him to stay, watch over him. Hold his hand and tell him that everything was going to be okay.   
He wished for things to be so, so much easier than they had turned out to be. 

The next morning, Elio awoke to silence in the room.   
Rays of sun filtered through weakly from the drawn curtains, but he could see it was a sunny day. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and blinked, letting the memories from the day before return to him. 

He’d drunk too much. Oliver had brought him back to his room. He swallowed, testing his body, checking for nausea or sickness. Neither seemed to be there, the worst of it replaced by a bearable headache. All in all, he counted himself lucky. 

He felt still thirsty, of course, and so he slowly pulled up to sitting. A fresh glass of water sat on his bedside table, waiting for him. As Elio reached out for it and drank, his eyes fell on the armchair next to the vanity. Oliver was sitting on it; looking exhausted, and as if he’d been sleeping there for most of the night. 

Elio placed the empty glass back on the bedside table. 

“Hey.” Oliver’s voice was quiet. Groggy with sleep, or lack thereof. 

Elio swallowed, frowning. Spoke. “You’ve been here all night?”

“Yes. I was worried. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Elio looked away. “I just had a little too much to drink. That’s all.”

“You left on your own. Clarice said you’d gone into town, but - we didn’t know where you were.” He paused for a moment. “I was worried.”

Elio looked back to him.   
“I needed some time. On my own. Out of this place.”

He saw Oliver take in a breath at that. He looked pale, too. Anguished. Elio kept his expression hard. 

“Elio, I- “ Oliver started, pulled up with his elbows on his knees, a hand running up into his hair nervously. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Elio didn’t let him continue. 

“I’ve never been hit before, Oliver. Ever, in my life. By anyone.”

“Elio, I’m really sorry. Seriously, extremely sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”

Elio looked away, and then back to Oliver, his eyes now bright with tears.   
“I’m - I’m young, I’m - younger than you, Oliver, and - and, I hardly have the strength you have. I look like - nothing, compared to you. I would never be able to defend myself.”

Oliver closed his eyes. “God. Elio, I don’t - I don’t want you to have to defend yourself from me...”

“Then don’t put me in that situation,” Elio cried. He brushed away tears from his face, trying hard not to lose it completely. “I don’t want to live with the fear that you’re going to - lose your temper, take it out on me. I - I’m sorry if I made you angry. I am. But you can’t blame me if I want to know what’s going on.” He had to stop, because his sobs were making it difficult for him to talk. He tried to take a breath. 

“Elio. Baby...”

“Don’t call me that,” Elio interrupted, stern. He moved to the edge of the bed, sitting on it, rubbing his hands on his eyes, irritated, wishing he could stop his tears altogether. He knew his face was red, his nose was red. He probably looked a mess. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oliver sigh. He stood.   
“I -“ he started, stopped. “I’m sorry, Elio. I really am. How can I - how can I make it better? I’ll - I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything to make this better.” 

Elio inhaled, brushing more tears away from his cheeks. After a few moments, he spoke again, though he refused to look towards the older man. 

“I want to be alone.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “Please leave.”

“Elio...”

“Oliver, please,” Elio insisted. His heart was breaking a little at every word he uttered; but he was too upset. He needed to calm down before he did anything, before he made any decision. “Please leave.”

He didn’t hear anything for a few long moments, but he could hear Oliver’s gaze on him, he could feel his concern, as Elio rubbed at his face, sobbing quietly.   
He didn’t want Oliver’s concern. What he wanted was the truth; it was an explanation, but he didn’t feel ready to demand it now. 

“Will you let me know if you’re hungry,” Oliver murmured tentatively, sounding unsure like Elio had never heard him. 

The boy replied, his voice equally quiet, though final.   
“If I need anything, I have Clarice here to help me.”

He heard silence, again, for a few moments. Then Oliver’s footsteps towards the entrance to the room; the sound of the door opening and closing behind him the only noise breaking the silence. 

  
Elio left his room a couple of hours later. Once he’d washed, changed his clothes, asked Clarice to bring him some food - as much as the idea of eating made him nauseous, he was also starving, his stomach burning with lack of food and alcohol from last night. So he forced himself to eat something - some soup, bread, some biscuits - and then, with a sigh, he forced himself to face what his situation now was. 

He couldn’t stay in his room forever. And he couldn’t stop speaking to Oliver. Not unless he decided to leave Manderley, leave everything and perhaps go back to his old life. He set his jaw and felt a pinch of pain to his heart just at the thought of that possibility.   
He took another breath, and made himself keep walking. 

As he had thought, and hoped, Oliver was in the dining hall. His back to him, facing the big glass door, he stood, smoking a cigar - but when he heard Elio’s footsteps on the marble floor, he turned around immediately.   
“Hey,” he greeted. His face still tense, grave. 

Elio stopped, looked at him. 

“I have questions. And I want answers.” 

He saw Oliver swallow. He put the cigar out in the ashtray on the side table. He nodded. 

Elio wanted to wring his fingers, wanted to hold onto the sleeves of his shirt like he always did when he was nervous. But he made himself hold his hands into fists at his sides, told himself to be strong. 

“I want to know what happened to Elise.” He hesitated a moment. “I want to know what happened when she died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only had time for a shorter chapter, but I hope this is okay! Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> (And on a completely different subject, I hope you’re celebrating today❤️)


	26. Penzance

Oliver was quiet for a moment. But he didn’t look surprised at Elio’s question, not at all. 

“Elio, I don’t think...”

“If you don’t tell me, I will leave.” 

Elio’s voice was firm. His heart was beating so fast he felt lightheaded; he grit his teeth, and forced himself to breathe and keep it together. He needed to do this, as much as it hurt.   
“I can’t stay here, Oliver. Not like this.”

Oliver looked dejected. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” Elio shook his head. “No, I don’t understand.” A pause. “Did you hurt her, Oliver?”he added, forcing himself to spit out the words, heartbeat like a drum in his ears. 

“No! Elio. God. No, I didn’t hurt her.”

And as much as Elio was aware that Oliver could just be saying something like that, telling him what he wanted to hear, he allowed himself to breathe, for a moment. 

“Then what happened.”

Oliver’s eyes were wide, seemed sincere.   
“Can we go for a walk? Out of here. Just you and me.”

Elio held his eyes. Suddenly, he was extremely aware that they were standing in the dining room at Manderley, raising their voices; probably surrounded by staff who were always hiding behind doors, always ready to come out if they were called. He was aware Mrs Danvers was probably nearby, certainly listening. 

He nodded. 

The far end of the garden lead to an iron door which opened to the woods at the back of Manderley. A patch of green made of oaks and pine trees, and shrubs of all kinds. It looked well kept, with the path that sneaked in the midst of it fairly clean in its appearance - but Elio had never seen gardeners there, any time he looked over from Manderley. But then again, there were so many things about that place that he still didn’t know.

This was certainly his first time walking along the path through the woods. He walked alongside Oliver, the older man quiet for a few long minutes, Elio not speaking, either, waiting for him. 

“That day, the day she - Elise, died. We’d gone on a trip to Penzance. A weekend trip. She’d wanted it for a long time. I couldn’t go abroad, I was working constantly.” Oliver spoke quietly, reminiscing. “So we decided to drive there. We rented a cottage. But - the weather wasn’t like we - like she’d hoped. It was cloudy, the whole time. It rained. We were stuck indoors for so long.”

“She said she’d go for a swim anyway. She wanted me to go with her.” Oliver paused for a moment, then, with a sigh, he resumed talking. “I said I didn’t feel like it. She insisted but I said I wouldn’t go. And - she went anyway. On her own.”

Elio listened quietly as they walked. Oliver was pausing every few sentences; but Elio didn’t feel like he could interject, offer any thoughts, or comment. He knew so little of what had happened. He knew nothing of Elise; he knew nothing of that Oliver, the Oliver who was married to her. 

“She didn’t return for hours. It was nearly dark outside when I went to look for her.”  
Oliver paused again. “The weather was bad, it had started raining. After a while I took the car and drove to the police station. We couldn’t find her for days.”

“For - days?” Elio couldn’t help himself ask. 

Oliver nodded. “The current brought her body back a week later. I was called to confirm it was her.”

“God, Oliver,” Elio looked at him, trying to read his eyes. They were still walking, though slowly now. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t go. Elio, I couldn’t,” Oliver said. He looked anguished, but it felt strange. He wasn’t crying; he didn’t look upset at the thought of his late wife. His expression was grim - as if he was reminding himself of a time in his life that he hated. 

“Mrs Danvers went in my place.”

Elio looked away. Mrs Danvers seemed to love Elise, so it must have certainly been a horrible blow to her. But still - Elio hated to think of the fact that she might have blamed Oliver for it. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Oliver,” Elio murmured, quietly. It was probably pointless, but he felt like he should say it. 

Oliver nodded again. “Even if I had wanted to go with her, she didn’t want me to. She only asked me to go with her because - to her, it was my duty. As her husband. But she didn’t really want me there.”

Elio frowned. He looked up at Oliver, though the older man had his eyes fixed ahead of him, and they were steely.   
It was a strange way to talk about one’s dead wife - and for the first time, and clearly, Elio heard resentment in the way Oliver was talking about Elise. 

He looked away again. At the trees, with their branches swaying gently in the wind.   
Had Oliver been angry, upset with Elise, because he felt neglected? Because he felt put aside by her, rejected, used?  
This is what Oliver’s words made him think. And everything that everybody at Manderley always said about her - everybody seemed to be in love with her. Oliver must have been too.   
Mafalda had told him that Oliver adored Elise. Since the day Oliver had proposed to him, Elio had stubbornly refused to linger on that thought.   
But now, he wondered. 

“I’m sure she - she cared about you.” Elio made himself say, even though the words themselves took his breath away with pain. But he’d only known Oliver for a few weeks, after all - Elise had known him for much, much longer. 

“No, she didn’t.” Oliver’s voice was firm. Direct. “She didn’t care.”  
The way his tone was so abrupt, reminded Elio of all the other times that he’d tried to talk to Oliver about Elise, and the older man had refused, closed up, made an excuse to leave. It was as if the same thing was about to happen now. 

Elio didn’t know what to say, and so he kept his eyes ahead, on the path they were following amongst the trees. 

Until a few moments later, when he no longer heard Oliver’s steps alongside his, crackling on the dead leaves.   
Elio stopped, and turned towards Oliver. The older man was standing, still, looking at him. 

“I’m sorry, Elio. I let my nerves get the better of me. I should have never hit you.”

Elio swallowed. Oliver’s eyes were so wide, and blue, as he looked at him intensely. He was suddenly reminded of why they were there, of what had happened - listening to Oliver finally tell the story of that fateful day in Penzance had made him forget about everything else. 

Elio pursed his lips, bit into them. 

“You are so important to me,” Oliver spoke again. Took one step to get closer to Elio, then another one. “So - precious, and I can’t believe I did what I did.”

He was really close now. Elio raised his eyes to hold Oliver’s. 

“Am I?”

“Of course,” Oliver shook his head, his forehead wrinkled in distress. “Of course you are. I love you.”

 _Like you loved Elise?,_ Elio wanted to ask. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t.   
They were trying to mend what had happened. Trying to bridge the gap and get close again. He missed Oliver. He missed him a lot, even though he’d been - and still was - so upset with him.  
He loved Oliver. 

So when Oliver reached out to circle Elio’s wrist with his hand delicately, to pull him close, Elio didn’t protest. When Oliver stroked a curl away from Elio’s forehead with just the tips of his fingers, careful as could be, Elio didn’t step back, instead he closed his eyes, let himself feel that touch.   
And then, when Oliver cupped both of his cheeks, his palms warm against Elio’s cheeks, Elio didn’t pull away, but let himself be kissed. 

They walked back to Manderley in companionable silence. 

Elio wasn’t sure what time it was by now, he felt like they’d been away forever. And the table in the dining hall, set with food and Manderley staff ready to serve it, told him it was lunch time. 

“Would you like to eat something?” Oliver asked, waiting for Elio to make his decision. Elio wasn’t hungry; but he didn’t want to go back to his room. He’d rather spend some time here, with Oliver, even if they just sat in silence and thought about what had happened. 

After lunch, Elio realised how exhausted he still felt. He could do with a nap, perhaps while Oliver worked.   
Oliver walked him back to his room before he had to go to his study for the rest of the afternoon. 

“Let’s go out for dinner, tonight,” Oliver said, as they stood in front of Elio’s door. And for a moment, Elio felt the same flush to his cheeks, the same jump in his heartbeat he’d felt back in Montecarlo, when they had first met. “I’d like to take you out.”

Elio nodded, his lips pursing into a smile. “I’d like that.” 

“Great.” Oliver’s own smile was soft. Relieved. “Let’s meet down in the hall, at seven?”

“Sure,” Elio nodded. He looked up at Oliver; Oliver was looking down at him. He was so careful, now - they seemed like two different people from the ones they had been until the day before. 

And so Elio rose on tiptoes; placed his hand on Oliver’s chest, and kissed him.   
And when Oliver’s hands cupped his face once more, held him still, and pushed into the kiss, gently but firmly nudging Elio to open his mouth, to let their tongues touch, Elio let it happen. 

Before Oliver could leave, however, Elio spoke again. 

“One more thing,” he said, setting his jaw, steeling himself to force the words out. “I want us to sleep in the same room. Officially. I don’t want to pretend we sleep separately anymore. You sleeping here, or me moving to your room, I don’t care. We are engaged, I’m your fiancé, and I’m the man of the house. And I don’t want anymore secrets.”

He made himself hold Oliver’s eyes, even though they had gone a darker shade of blue now. Stormy, somewhat.   
Elio knew that even two days ago Oliver would have protested, reprimanded him, said no with no chance to appeal. But now, it was different, and Elio could see it in the way that Oliver’s lips pursed into a small smile, after a few moments of hesitation. 

“Sure. Okay.” He leant down, kissed Elio’s lips. “I will let Mrs Danvers know.”

Elio smiled; relieved. And then stood by the door to his room, watching Oliver leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	27. Sleep

Elio was just leaving his room, directed downstairs to meet Oliver, to head together out for dinner, when Edward appeared in the hallway. 

“Well, good evening, Elio,” the butler greeted. Elio closed the door behind himself.   
“Hi, Edward.”

“Clarice said you wouldn’t be having dinner at the house tonight.”

Elio shook his head, with a little smile. “Ah. No. Oliver and I are going out tonight.”

Edward’s eyebrows rose; and then he nodded. “I see.” A pause. “I take everything is fine between you two now?”

Elio bit his lower lip, thinking of what to say.   
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Yes. We’re fine.”

Edward nodded, too. He seemed perplexed, and Elio couldn’t hold back his curiosity. 

“Is anything the matter? You seem surprised.”

“No, no. Nothing of that sort. It’s just that - I’ve seen this happen before.”

Elio took a breath, and frowned. “What do you mean.”

“This situation,” Edward said. He held his hands behind his back, his face a picture of calm. “I’ve seen it happen, with Mistress Elise. And Master Oliver.”

Elio took another breath. What did this even mean? Why was Edward saying that?

“What - what did you see happen. I don’t understand.”

“They would have fights. Then she would not leave her room for days. Or if she did, she covered her body - her neck, her arms. Sometimes her face, with one of her many, beautiful fascinators.”

Elio frowned more deeply, and shook his head. 

“No, look. Oliver told me. About - what happened with her. He didn’t hurt her. I think it’s - more complicated than you think.”

Edward lifted his chin. “He hurt you, though. Didn’t he?”

His words stayed suspended in the silence between them. The air seemed so thick, the dark walls around them looking more ominous than usual.   
But Elio set his jaw. He knew what had happened. Edward didn’t. It wasn’t like that. 

“He apologised to me. He knows he was wrong. It was a mistake,” he said, holding Edward’s eyes steadily, his voice firm. 

“Right.” Edward nodded. All of sudden, his face had softened again. Once more, he had a smile on his lips, his demeanour suddenly affable again. “I’m sure that’s the truth.”

“It is,” Elio said. “We’re going to be officially moving into the same room now. No more secrets.”

The butler nodded again. “No more secrets. I see.” He gave Elio another small smile, and shrugged. “Oh well. I’m just being a friend. Making sure you’re looking after yourself. I’d hate to see you hurt again.” And then, after another pause: “I wish you to have a wonderful evening, then. Give Master Oliver my regards.”

And before Elio could say anything else, he walked away down the unlit corridor. 

  
“Hey,” Oliver called. His hand reached out, index finger touching Elio’s bottom lip softly. “You’re doing it again.”

Elio blinked, and turned to Oliver, sitting next to him at their table in the nicest Italian-inspired restaurant in town. He’d been looking out at the street he could see through the large window - and thinking.   
“What am I doing?”he asked, his head tilted in question. 

“Biting your lip,” Oliver said with a small chuckle. “That beautiful lip of yours.”

Elio blinked, pursed his mouth into a small smile. He felt his cheeks flush, like it always happened when Oliver complimented him. 

“Ah. Sorry. Mafalda always told me off about that.” 

Elio ran a hand through his hair, brushing curls back behind his ear. 

Oliver was quiet for a moment.   
“You okay?” He asked. 

Elio felt the need to bite his lower lip again, but instead he reached out for his glass of water, took a sip. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He saw Oliver nod. “You just seem quiet, that’s all.”

“No. It’s fine.” 

Elio didn’t know what to say. He wanted to trust Oliver. He wanted to believe him. But Edward’s words were whirling through his mind, of course - and what reason would Edward have to lie? He was worrying about him, like a friend would. And Elio needed a friend. 

“If you’re bored, or - do you not like the food? We can go somewhere else if this is not what you feel like,” Oliver spoke again, his voice tinged with worry. 

“No,” Elio shook his head. God, he was making Oliver misunderstand. He was ruining their night. “No, no. I like it here, or course, I - sorry.” He leaned towards Oliver, joined their mouth in a kiss. “I was just - distracted. Sorry.” 

Oliver was still frowning, probably unconvinced. Elio held his eyes, letting him look into his, trying to convey that he really was fine. 

He wished Edward hadn’t spoken to him at all. 

“I’ve told Mrs Danvers I’m moving into your room - this room. Tomorrow. She’ll have the staff bring all of my things, so I don’t have to go back and forth to get changed.”

Elio looked at himself in the mirror as Oliver spoke, unbuttoning his shirt, undressing for the night. “How did she react?” he asked, not taking his eyes off his own reflection. Looking at the paleness of his face, at the skinny arms and waist that Mrs Danvers seemed to dislike so much. 

“She was fine.” 

Oliver’s voice was light. Easy. As if it was unheard of for Mrs Danvers to have a problem with him sharing the same room as Elio. He was completely unbothered, and Elio sighed, fastened his pijama pants around his hips. He felt on edge, and annoyed at himself for that. 

He heard Oliver walk slowly towards him. He had his shirt off; his wide, strong chest, covered in a smattering of dark blonde hair, on display. It always made Elio’s belly give a squeeze of desire.   
Then in the mirror, next to Elio’s, Oliver’s reflection appeared. Elio closed his eyes as he felt Oliver kiss his shoulder, the naked curve of his collarbone, Oliver’s large arms circling his torso from behind, Elio feeling so small in comparison. 

“Hey,” Oliver whispered against the side of his neck. “I don’t want to see you so tense.”

Elio turned to the side, so that he could look at Oliver somehow. “I’m not tense.”

“Liar.” 

Oliver kissed his throat. Then his collarbone again, his shoulder. Turned him around, so they were face to face. And Elio closed his eyes once more. He felt Oliver’s lips on his a moment later; gently at first, but soon more urgent, carefully demanding. He made himself keep his eyes closed and follow Oliver’s lead, let him walk him backwards towards the bed. And once there, he did as Oliver was silently asking him to, and laid back, letting Oliver guide his arms up over his head, letting him kiss down his chest, under his armpits, along his ribs. 

“So beautiful,” Oliver was murmuring. Low, slow, like a caress. “So beautiful.”

Elio tried to relax. Closed his eyes, tried to listen to Oliver’s voice, to his praise.   
But - his mind wasn’t in it. Annoyingly so - all he wanted was to enjoy his night with his figure husband - and yet, he couldn’t. It was true, he’d lied. He was tense. He felt all his muscles tight, Oliver’s touch not helping like it usually did. His praises weren’t making his skin tingle with heat; instead, Elio couldn’t think of anything else, aside from _did you say this to Elise, too. Did you take her out to dinner, did you seduce her back into your bed, after one of your fights? Like you’re doing with me?_

“Wait. Oliver. Please wait.”

He reached out, placed his hand over one of Oliver’s, the one that was unfastening his pijama bottoms now. 

“What is it.” Oliver’s eyes were blue, turquoise almost, the colour they got when they were making love. 

Elio swallowed. “I -“ he started. Tried again. “I’m really tired. Tonight, I - I’d like to go to sleep. If you don’t mind.”

He looked at Oliver in the eyes, the older man still hovering over him, his hands on the bed either side of Elio’s lips. 

“Are you alright?” Oliver was frowning. 

“Yes, yes of course,” Elio nodded quickly. “I just would like to go to sleep. Can we go to sleep, please?”

Oliver looked at him for a few long moments. It was the first time that Elio refused sex since they’d started their relationship - and so Elio understood Oliver might be confused. But Elio needed this. Needed a little distance. Certainly couldn’t share his body with Oliver while so many thoughts, so many contrasting feelings were battling in his mind. He couldn’t even understand what was going on; all he wanted was to lie down, quietly. With Oliver by his side, he hoped. 

Oliver took a breath, and then finally nodded. “Sure we can.” He pulled up to sitting, ran a hand through his hair. “Of course.”

Elio could see he was restraining himself, making a decision to oblige Elio’s wishes, without asking anything else, no explanation, no reason.   
Elio watched him lay back down next to him, on the bed. His face seemed okay; serene. Oliver’s hand lifted to brush Elio’s hair back behind his ear, as he loved to do. 

“Let’s just go to sleep,” Oliver repeated, leaning over, and kissing Elio on the forehead, before pulling back to lay on his side of the bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I sometimes post shorter chapters. I don’t always have the time to write but I figure posting shorter chapters often is better than posting longer chapters but making you wait longer... but let me know if this is not the case?
> 
> And of course, let me know what you think of this chapter! X


	28. The book of Manderley

Elio blinked his eyes open, the next morning, to the rays of a gentle sun coming through the window.   
Still sleepy, he turned around on the bed to face Oliver, seeing that the older man was already awake, sitting up, reading a newspaper, one of those that the Manderley staff left outside their room every morning. 

“Hi,” Oliver greeted. 

“Hi.” Elio’s voice was still groggy with sleep. “How long have you been awake for?”

“Not too long.” Oliver folded the newspaper back up, set it aside on the bedside table. He turned towards Elio, and with his hand he stroked Elio’s hair back from his temple. “Good morning,” he greeted again, his voice warm, rich like hot chocolate. 

Elio felt like stirring lazily; letting the coziness, the comfort, and Oliver’s attentions seep into his bones. He wanted to forget everything about the day before. He wanted to forget everything bad that had happened so far. He wished he could. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday night. If I came across as demanding, I didn’t mean to.” Oliver said. Elio blinked, a tiny frown appearing on his forehead as he tried to think of what this could be referring to. Ah, yes, now he remembered. Oliver wanting sex, Elio asking to just go to sleep. 

“It’s fine,” Elio said, closing his eyes, letting the feel of Oliver’s hand stroking his hair lull and hypnotise him. It felt so nice. 

“Good. Because - because I do want you. A lot. Every time I look at you, every little thing that you do... the way you purse your lips. The way you frown. The way you let yourself go when you laugh, or when we’re kissing. Everything that you do is so - full of sensuality. So seductive.”

Elio blinked his eyes open. He was surprised to hear Oliver so vulnerable, so direct. And his cheeks burned with pleasure at Oliver’s words.   
He rubbed at one eye, a half-attempt to cover his face, also. 

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know,” Oliver said. His voice even lower now. “I know. And that’s why it’s even more attractive. More beautiful.”

Elio looked up at Oliver from where he was half hiding his face into his pillow. He smiled, still shy. 

“But this is just to say that - while I am attracted to you, every minute of every day, I don’t mean to push you. Or corner you, or - make you feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Elio looked up into Oliver’s eyes. This time, they were both serious. Oliver’s eyes intent on conveying the truth in his words; Elio’s, focussed in Oliver’s eyes, reading them, listening. 

When Elio spoke, his voice was quiet as a whisper.   
“I want to, Oliver.”

And Oliver held his eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please.”

  
  


It happened quickly, after that, and yet it was sensual, slow, careful and intense. It was gentle in the way that Oliver kissed and sucked on Elio’s nipples, while Elio held his hands in Oliver’s hair, stroked it; it was scalding, almost feverish, in the way Oliver’s fingers pushed into Elio, held and stroked inside him, while Oliver watched Elio’s face carefully, told him he wanted to see every expression, every tiny change in his eyes and mouth and listen to every hitch of his breath.   
It was intense, and so encompassing that Elio’s mind was only focussed on their lovemaking. He couldn’t think of anything else. And so he opened his legs, took deep breaths, let Oliver kiss his throat and fill him with three, then four fingers. His brain was so full of pleasure, almost on the brink of orgasm already, and god had he needed this. “I want you all inside,” Elio sobbed on Oliver’s mouth, forgetting coherency and any attempt at making sense, and letting himself go, giving himself to the throes of sensation.   
When Oliver moved down his body in a trail of kisses to take Elio in his mouth, the boy could only last a few moments before reaching his climax with a moan, his whole skin burning, his back arching.   
He kept up his moans, later, when Oliver fucked him urgently, looking for his own orgasm, their mouths pressed against each other, sharing each other’s breath. 

  
  


  
After breakfast, when Oliver went to his study, Elio sat at the table in the dining room, papers and pens in front of him and Clarice by his side, writing a list of everything that needed to be sorted out for his and Oliver’s wedding. 

“Oliver wants to get married in America, when we go,” Elio explained. “But we should start getting things ready. And I still think we should sign the papers at the Townhall, here. So my parents can be there, and Oliver’s family. I think it makes sense.”

Her eyes wide and excited, Clarice nodded. “Yes, I agree.”

“Then we have a lot to do,” Elio said. 

And it was true. There was a lot to do. And there was a lot he still wanted to ask of Oliver. He wanted to ask him about what he’d seen in the study - Elise’s legal case. He wanted to ask him about his work. He’d been worried about asking these questions, tense about how Oliver might react - and he still was. But he certainly needed to know - and perhaps, little by little, he could find out. Oliver had agreed with him, after all - no more lies. 

“Should we not ask Mrs Danvers for her help? She knows about all of these things. She knows all of the etiquette.”

“Yes,” Elio sighed. “And Edward knows tailors, and things like that.”

Clarice’s eyes widened even more. “That’s true!”

Elio swallowed, thinking. Oliver didn’t like him talking to Edward. 

“Oliver doesn’t want me spending time with Edward,” he said, feeling the need to talk about this to someone. In her innocence and naïveté, Clarice seemed like a safe person to be honest with. 

“Oh,” the girl’s eyebrows knit in a frown. “Well, I guess - I can see why that would be.”

Elio turned towards her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Edward has that - clever face, you know? And it doesn’t seem to me like he likes Master Oliver much. I heard that he and Elise...” A moment later, she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh god, please don’t tell him I said anything, Elio. Please! I should not gossip! I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Clarice,” Elio shook his head. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything. Please finish what you were saying.”

“Oh no, Elio, I couldn’t.”

“Please, Clarice. I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise you.”

The girl seemed still conflicted. Her face was flushed up in shame and worry. But she had come to trust Elio, in the few days that they’d been working together - and so she relented. 

“I heard that Edward and Elise were - seeing each other, in secret. Behind Master Oliver’s back.”

Elio nodded. Looked down. This wasn’t news to him - Edward had mentioned to him very early on, had told him how Oliver believed the gossip, how jealous he was. And that was a small town, with not much happening; if he Elise had been going on trips to the city center with Edward, like Elio himself had done more than once, it didn’t matter how innocent that might be, people were still going to talk. 

“Well,” he said, with another sigh, wanting to change the subject. There were more important matters to focus on now. “Here’s a list of things I - need to figure out. Some are for the wedding, some are for Manderley. I am the - man of the house but I - I’m still not sure how to do anything, to be honest, I’d never done any of this on my own, of course.” And as much as he’d wanted to ask Mrs Danvers for help, as much as he had, already, she still was so intimidating to him. Now he had Clarice, perhaps she would be the help he needed. 

Clarice nodded. 

“I know you have a busy day ahead, but can I leave this with you? I’ll -“ he felt like he needed to say something, something clever and worthy of the man of the house - but the truth was that he didn’t know what to say. What did he need to be doing? 

He wanted Oliver. He wanted to spend some time with him. Perhaps he was being irrational, and spoiled, but - that was what he wanted. 

Clarice stood, the list in her hand, and before she could leave, Elio called her name. 

“Clarice, do you think you could - give Oliver a message for me? When you go by the study, could you tell him I’ll be waiting for him in our room at lunchtime?”

Clarice smiled. “Of course. Sure, Elio. I will.” And then she left. 

  
  


Elio ran to the door as soon as he heard a knock. 

“Hey,” he greeted, smile on his face, letting Oliver in. 

“Are you okay? Clarice said you’d asked me here.”

Elio closed the door. Then smiled again, and walked up to Oliver, wrapped his arms around the older man’s neck. “Yes, I did.” He lifted himself up on tiptoes and kissed Oliver. “I missed you.”

Oliver chuckled against his lips, his arms going to circle Elio’s waist. “I missed you too.”

“Ok, good, I’m glad,” Elio kissed him again. “Then can I ask you something? Can we do something together this afternoon? Please?”

Oliver cupped his cheek, stroked his lower lip. “You know I have to work, baby.”

“Don’t work this afternoon,” Elio said, kissed Oliver’s palm. “Please. Just for once.” He looked up at Oliver, his eyes wide. 

Oliver’s thumb stroked once more across Elio’s full lip.   
“And what would you like to do, hmm? If I didn’t work this afternoon?”

“I don’t know, we could - go on a trip. To the countryside. Do something different. Talk, go to a movie...drink wine.”

“I thought you’d sworn off drinking any wine ever again after your misadventure the other day,” Oliver laughed gently, teasing. 

Elio’s voice was quiet when he answered. “It would be different with you.”

Oliver held his gaze for a long moment. 

“All right,” he nodded. Chuckled again. “Fine. How can I say no to those eyes.”

Elio’s lips split into a huge smile.   
“Thank you! Thank you.”

“Let me go and finish up downstairs then,” Oliver laughed quietly, his eyes gleaming at Elio’s enthusiasm. 

“Okay.” Elio stepped on tiptoes, and kissed Oliver again. “Meet you downstairs? I’ll get ready.”

Elio was just about to leave his room, when he heard a knock on the door. 

“Elio? It’s me, Clarice.”

He smiled at the girl as she opened the door quietly. 

“Sorry, I - know you have Master Oliver to see, however I wanted to tell you - I talked to Mrs Danvers.”

“About what?” Elio asked, putting on his jacket. 

“About - what needs to be done. Because - I’m so sorry, Elio, so sorry, but I don’t know much of what needs to be done here, I’m new here and - and this is the first time I have to do some of these things and-“

“Hey, Clarice, it’s fine! It’s fine, okay,” Elio tried to reassure. He wasn’t annoyed. In fact, he was relieved. He knew they needed Mrs Danvers’s help, as much as he wasn’t looking forward to it; but Clarice asking her for him definitely saved him an unpleasant task. 

“Alright, well. She said that - there’s a book. With everything in it - all the etiquette rules, to do lists, reminders, designs, for Manderley. It’s a book that Elise used, and that she wrote in, and it’s got all the information we need.”

Elio raised his eyebrows at her. “And where is this book?”

“In Elise’s room,” Clarice said. “Well, the room that was Elise’s and Master Oliver’s. In the vanity.”

“You know where that room is?” 

Clarice smiled. “Yes. Mrs Danvers told me. I could go and look for-“

“No. Wait.” Elio’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait. Let me - think about it.”

Elise’s room. Elise and Oliver’s room. The one that Oliver had never shown him. The one that Mrs Danvers had said he couldn’t sleep in, because he wasn’t Oliver’s spouse.   
Finally, Elio had a chance to see it.   
He’d been so curious, so curious, and now he was even more so - now that it wasn’t just the room that he could see, but also Elise’s book, a window into what Manderley had been, into what Elise had been. 

He needed to see both. He just needed to. 

“That’s no problem,” Clarice smiled again. “Just let me know.” She gave a little courtsey, and then another one of her friendly smiles. And Elio made himself smile at her, even though his mind was deep in thought. 


	29. Murder Case

They debated for a little bit, chatting in the car while the driver waited for instructions. But in the end, they decided to go to the seaside.   
While not really warm, the weather wasn’t too bad, in fact it was pleasant enough if you wore a jacket and some warm trousers. Elio wanted to stroll on the sand, stop by one of the freehouses by the beach for a cup of warm apple cider.   
And they did exactly that. When they decided to continue their walk, a couple of hours later, they were much warmer, and much more relaxed, even holding hands as they walked, the very few people out and about that weekday afternoon not paying them much attention. 

The small shops along the path, facing the sea, were almost closing up for the day, and yet Elio wanted to stop at each one: the souvenir seller; the one who sold handmade necklaces; the tea and coffee shop, and the little stall that had all sorts of dry fruit and vegetables. And finally, they stopped at a tailor, his small place dusty and yet so weirdly fashionable. 

Elio looked at garments, piqued interest in his eyes. 

“Is there anything you’d like?” Oliver asked, softly, looking intently at his young fiancé.   
Elio sighed, then shook his head, looked up at him. 

“Well, actually... there’s a lot.” 

Oliver laughed as he followed Elio out of the shop, and onto the high street, now starting to darken with the light of the day fading into evening. The lampposts were starting to light up; Elio loved their warm orange glow. 

“A lot?” The older man repeated, frowning playfully. He took Elio’s hand, wove their fingers together. 

“You know. For our wedding.” 

Elio looked at Oliver, observed his eyes. He didn’t know why he felt so hesitant; it wasn’t like it was something Oliver didn’t want to do. 

“I see.” Oliver’s eyebrows raised. “But we can buy our outfits, and everything else we need when we are in Pittsburgh. You know that.” 

“I know,” Elio nodded. He looked up into Oliver’s eyes. “But I don’t want to leave everything to the last minute. And - also,” he started, bit his lower lip, nervous. 

“Also...?” Oliver encouraged. His finger stroked Elio’s bottom lip, around where the boy’s teeth were leaving indents in the soft flesh. 

“Also, I was thinking we should get married here, first. At the Town Hall.”   
He held Oliver’s eyes, intently. Waited. 

Oliver’s hands went to cup Elio’s cheeks.   
“Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” Elio nodded. “Yes. I want to get married here, too, so that my parents can be there.”   
He didn’t say anything more, letting his words sink in. Oliver was still looking into his eyes, his fingers gently stroking his cheekbones. 

And a few moments later, he spoke.   
“Of course. Of course, we can. It makes perfect sense.”

“Really?” Elio didn’t know why he was so relieved, but he let his eyes widen, his lips splitting into a smile from ear to ear. 

Oliver smiled too. “Yes, yes. Of course, my darling.”

Elio closed his eyes and kissed Oliver, raising on tip toes to better reach his mouth. “Thank you. I’m so happy.”

Oliver still held his face into his hands, a tender smile on his face - and Elio smiled again, too. 

“God, you’re so gorgeous. So breathtaking, with this beautiful mouth, and these freckles. Right here on your nose,” Oliver said, teasing softly. 

“Stop,” Elio protested playfully, hiding his face into Oliver’s shoulder. And Oliver didn’t miss his chance. He kissed Elio’s cheek, then down the side of his throat. Until he reached the juncture of his neck and collarbone, and sank his teeth gently. 

Elio gasped against the warm fabric of Oliver’s shirt, but didn’t move. Stayed still, letting the feeling of Oliver sucking on his skin travel down his entire body.   
He sank his fingers into the hair on Oliver’s nape, holding tight, delivering some of that burning himself, the delicious pleasure-pain that Oliver was giving him.   
And when Oliver stopped for a breath, only to resume his kisses, sinking his teeth even deeper into the delicate skin right there at the base of Elio’s throat, Elio moaned, threw his head back, eyes closed, abandoning himself in the arms of his fiancé, letting him do whatever he wanted with him. 

  
“I told you I would do it,” Oliver was murmuring quietly against Elio’s temple, a few moments later. There was playfulness in his tone, gentle teasing.   
And Elio chuckled quietly himself, face still pressed against Oliver’s strong shoulder. 

“You brute,” the boy growled, half-breathless, half in jest. “I wonder how my throat looks now. Probably indecent.” 

Oliver laughed, and it was such a warm sound.   
“We’ll buy you a scarf,” he said, pulling Elio back, cupping his face once again in his hands. His eyes soft and gleaming, his smile gentle, he stroked Elio’s lips.   
“It’s nice and bruised,” he confirmed, voice no louder than a purr. “And you look stunning.”

Elio had to close his eyes. God. He loved Oliver. He loved this Oliver. The man who could undo him and put him back together. The man who took him into his arms, and made it so that Elio no longer had control of himself, his body completely belonging to Oliver. The man who knew how to give pleasure, and pain, and pain and pleasure. If this was a sick thing to like, then Elio was proud to be sick. 

“Come on,” Oliver kissed his lips again. “Let’s go get another drink. And have some supper, what do you say?”

With another kiss, he took Elio’s hand, and the boy went, more than willingly. 

  
The truth was that Elio had thought of this afternoon out so that he could have some time alone with Oliver, to talk to him about a few things. Not only the Town hall wedding - that was done and sorted now.   
But there were other matters that Elio still needed to broach with Oliver; and the thought of discussing these matters made him way more nervous. 

Especially as Oliver had been in such a good mood the whole evening. He’d got them the best table at this fish restaurant that smelled so good, Elio had felt as if he hadn’t eaten in years; he’d asked for champagne, and had refilled Elio’s and his own glass, asking the boy questions, chatting. 

Elio was loathe to ruin the atmosphere. But he knew that he needed to ask. This was as good a moment as any, and perhaps with some alcohol in his system Oliver would be more willing to engage. 

“I have something to ask you,” Elio started, taking a deep breath. 

Oliver was chewing on a piece of bread, and he cleaned his hand on his handkerchief, looked at Elio with curious blue eyes. 

“Sounds serious.”

“It’s just - something I would like to know. Something it’s important for me to know. But you might not be too happy to talk about it.”

He saw Oliver sigh, quickly, almost imperceptibly. The older man reached out, his hand under Elio’s chin, nudging his face up so his gaze could meet Oliver’s. Oliver’s gently rough thumb rubbed across Elio’s lower lip; his eyes observing him intensely, assessing. 

“Well,” Oliver sighed again. “Whatever you need to ask, just ask.”

“Okay.” Elio started. “I want to know. About Elise’s - case. About her murder case.”

Oliver pulled back his hand. He was still looking into Elio’s eyes, but his face was already set.   
For a moment, Elio wished he hadn’t said anything - but he breathed, and told himself he needed to know. He needed to be brave. 

“I already told you what happened.” Oliver’s voice was flat, though calm, seemingly unperturbed. 

“Yes, you told me, but,” Elio took a breath, reminded himself to stay calm too. “You told me she died but - why is it a murder case?”

He kept his eyes on Oliver. The older man looked back at him for a few moments; then, he looked away. His hand running through his hair; he cleared his throat, obviously uneasy.   
“So this is what you want to talk about, right now?” he asked. And there was definitely a hint of irritation now, in his tone. 

Elio swallowed. He needed to be brave.   
“Please. Oliver,” he said, whispered, careful. 

Oliver stared for a few more moments, his expression hard. 

“Fine,” he said then, nodding. “You want to know. Fine. The day she was found, washed up on the beach. She had a knife wound to her stomach.” 

Elio held his breath. “She-“

Oliver interrupted him.   
“She was barely even recognisable, but her stomach was pretty much ripped open from side to side, and that was clear to see.” His voice was grim. Clinical. 

Elio felt dizzy. 

“But then, does that mean -“

“Does it mean, what?” Oliver interrupted again, and Elio could tell that it was only because they were in a restaurant that he wasn’t raising his voice. “I already told you, I didn’t touch her.”

“No, I didn’t mean-“ Elio shook his head, a little frantic. “I didn’t mean you hurt her. But do they - do they think you did it?”

Oliver was quiet for a moment, looking anywhere but at Elio - and Elio wished desperately to see his eyes.   
When Oliver finally looked at him again, they were dark blue, and steely. 

“I was the only person there with her. She died when she was with me, of a knife wound. Obviously, they think it was me.”

His voice was flat. Cold. The way he said it, so clinical, made Elio’s blood freeze in his veins.   
He told himself to breathe. If this story had upset him, he couldn’t even imagine how Oliver could be feeling, having to wake up every day with the burden of this accusation on his head.   
And he knew it wasn’t just the normal procedure for a forensic investigation. He knew there was who believed that Oliver had killed Elise. Edward had told him, after all. Not in so many words, certainly; but he had his doubts.   
And like him, perhaps other people thoughts the same. 

Elio reached out, grasped Oliver’s hand, on the table.   
“I’m - I’m sorry, Oliver.” When the older man didn’t reply, still looking away, Elio continued. “I’m sorry for what happened and I’m sorry for asking you now. I.. I never meant to upset you.”

And he hadn’t meant to. Of course he hadn’t. And now that he thought about it, he’d been reckless in asking - as if he hadn’t considered this could be the answer. Now he had ruined everything. 

He stayed quiet, not knowing what to say, for a few long moments. Just holding Oliver’s hand.   
Then finally, the older man looked back to him. 

“My wife, my old life - they’re not happy memories for me, Elio.” His voice was low as he spoke. “So, if this is all you have to ask. Can we please forget this subject, now? Look to the future. That’s what I wanted to do, when I asked you to marry me. I don’t want to keep thinking of the past.”

“Yes,” Elio nodded. He was relieved, relieved by Oliver’s answer. He thought he’d be angry, and instead, he wanted to move on. Elio wanted nothing more than to fix this, and so he nodded, nodded. “Yes. Yes. I won’t ask any more. Let’s not think about that anymore.”

Oliver’s eyes were still dark blue, serious. They held Elio’s own eyes for long moments, as if gauging Elio’s sincerity; and then, Oliver’s lips stretched into the start of a smile. A tight-lipped one, certainly. But still a smile. 

When he leant towards Elio from his chair, hugged him, Elio wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck, let himself be held. Pressed his mouth against Oliver’s shoulder. It seemed like they were fine, now. They were going to move on. 

But his mind told him that perhaps, he’d made a mistake. Perhaps he’d maybe been too quick in his promise; in his urgency to make things better, to make Oliver happy again, perhaps he’d precluded himself the chance to really understand what was going on. 

Back in Manderley, the next morning, Elio sat at the dining room table, a long to-do list sprawled in front of him. 

Clarice was reading from another paper; a menu. 

“... and then you need to decide on the hors d’oeuvres,” the girl was saying, her index finger pointing at something on the page. “Fish or meat. And which wine you’d like.”

Elio sighed. “It’s not like this is something I have any idea of,” he said. He’d had rather the frustrating morning.

“But Mrs Danvers needs this approved within the hour,” Clarice said, pursing her lips, expression worried. “You’re the only person who can decide.”

“Yeah, I know,” Elio rolled his eyes, and shrugged. He wished he’d listened to Mafalda more, when she talked to him about the proper etiquette and rules of entertaining. He knew next to nothing about them, nor had he really ever been particularly interested in such things. 

Clarice pursed her lips again. When she spoke, her tone was low, a whisper.   
“What about that book? Mistress Elise’s book? That’s what we need.”

Elio nodded, rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, I know that too,” he sighed, frustrated. 

“Have you asked Master Oliver? Perhaps he could get it for you, he knows where it is for sure, and he must have gone through it a million times with his wife.”

Elio shook his head immediately. “No. No, I haven’t asked him, and I don’t want to ask him. No.”   
Of course not. Oliver had asked him not to talk about Elise anymore, and Elio was not going to risk reminding him of her again, and all the painful memories that came with her name. He wasn’t going to make that mistake yet another time. 

“But that book would be so useful,” Clarice said, miserably. 

Elio nodded. “I know.” He sighed. “I’ll just have to get it myself. When I can.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeek! 
> 
> (Please, if you have read so far - leave me a comment. Tell me what you think! I know I say this every time, but I read ALL of your comments, and they inspire me so much! Thank you) 
> 
> X


	30. Ivory and gold

One morning, two days later, Elio awoke to the muted sounds of someone moving around in the bedroom.   
Sleepy, he blinked his eyes open, and turned on his back from where he’d been sleeping on his side, nestled in the luxurious, soft silk sheets of their bed.   
He was naked; still warm and satisfied from the night before, from the hours of slow, intense lovemaking with Oliver. 

And it was Oliver who was padding around in the room. As Elio’s vision became clearer, he saw his fiancé was dressed, smartly so, even nicer than he usually did at home. 

“You up already?” Elio asked, voice soft and groggy with sleep. 

Oliver turned to look at him; smiled. He walked over, and sat on the edge of the bed, his hand going to brush Elio’s curls away from his eyes.   
“I’ve been called to London for a couple of days.”

Elio blinked again, frowned.   
“To London?” he repeated, trying to discern if he’d heard correctly. 

“Yes. I go, every now and then. To meet my lawyers, when they can’t come here.”

“But I thought you just postponed your meeting with them if they couldn’t be here.” Elio rubbed a hand over his eyes. 

“We can’t postpone now. The next court date is close, and there’s matters we need to see to.”

Elio blinked his eyes again, wanting to get rid of all the remaining sleep, wanting to be completely present for this, understand everything clearly. 

“Besides,” Oliver added. “There’s something I’ve been thinking. Something I need to talk to them about.” His hand stroked through Elio’s curls. The boy swallowed; he could hear Oliver’s somber tone, and it worried him. 

“What is that?”

He didn’t like that Oliver didn’t reply straight away. Instead, the older man leant down, kissed Elio’s lips, his forehead, pressing his mouth to his warm skin firmly.   
“I’d give anything not to have to go anywhere. All I want is to stay here, with you. Make love to you, the whole day.”

Elio tilted his face up, gently nudged Oliver to pull back. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Oliver sighed. 

“You said you’d like us to get married at the Town Hall, here. And I want that too. But I need to talk to my lawyers to make sure I can do that. With - with everything that’s going on.”

Elio frowned deeper. He cleared his throat, quietly, his limbs feeling suddenly tense. He pulled himself up to sitting, the bedsheet pooling around his waist, leaving his chest bare. 

“But what has - what does us getting married have to do with anything that’s going on?” 

Oliver held his eyes. His expression was dejected, but also, strangely calm. He’d expected Elio to be upset. 

“Just - let me do what I need to do. Baby. Just trust me.”

“Oliver, it’s not that I don’t trust you and you know it,” Elio said, then held himself back, checked his voice. He was getting upset, and he needed to try and keep a hold of his emotions. “It’s not that, but I want to know. I don’t understand.”

He made himself keep his eyes into Oliver’s, until the older man set his jaw, and looked away, before joining their gazes again. 

“If I’m involved in a court case about - the murder of my wife, it might seem peculiar that I am already getting married to someone else. When my wife’s body is not even cold yet.”

“But it is cold!” Elio said. “She’s been dead for a year, Oliver! A whole year!”

He knew he’d snapped. He knew he was being irrational. Stubborn. And Oliver’s tense expression told him he was trying really hard to keep calm in the face of Elio’s protests.   
Frustrated, with Oliver, with the situation, with himself, Elio pulled the sheet up to cover his body, sat up further, on the edge of the bed, and stood, his hands holding onto the edges of the fabric defensively so that it would cover his nudity. 

“I only want to talk to them. To make sure it’s the right thing to do,” Oliver explained, patiently, though his voice was flat. He was staring at the floor, his whole body tense. 

Elio brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. “You already know it’s the right thing to do. You asked me to marry you. But now you’re looking for every reason not to follow through.”

He swallowed. His throat felt dry, his lungs out of breath. He felt something - the awareness that he wasn’t being completely fair starting to creep into his chest.   
He still refused to look towards Oliver, still stubborn, and now perhaps a little ashamed of his outburst. 

Oliver was quiet. Elio’s hands held onto the edge of the bedsheet that covered his body, as he stood there, trembling. 

Then, he heard Oliver move. The older man stood, and for another long moment everything was quiet; then, there was the the muted noise of footsteps on the carpeted floor, the shuffling of fabric - Oliver’s heavier coat being picked up. 

“I’ll be back in two days,” Oliver said. His voice flat, quiet. 

As he was just by the door, Elio turned towards him, towards his back.   
“You’re going to leave me like this, for two whole days, on my own.” He didn’t even know what he meant with that. He wanted to attack, still; to get a reaction; to receive attention. He wanted an excuse for Oliver to talk to him so that he could talk back, and then apologise - ask him to start their morning off again. How had it gone so bad, so quickly? 

“You’re the man of the house. You’ll have plenty to do.”

Oliver’s voice was still flat as he spoke the words. While Elio wanted to keep talking, that was obviously an argument Oliver was done with. 

He left quietly, the only sign of his departure the door slamming, loud, making Elio flinch. 

  
  


“Are you sure you’re okay, Elio?” Clarice asked, for the third time that morning. They were sitting together at the table of the dining hall, going over the list of tasks for the staff that week. 

And for what was the fourth, or the fifth time maybe, Elio crossed off yet another word he’d gotten wrong while writing the list. He couldn’t get anything correctly that morning, it seemed. 

“I’m fine,” he said quietly. “It’s just that - uh. I was stupid enough to - pick a huge fight with Oliver this morning. And now he’s gone, and I won’t see him for two days, and he probably hates me right now.”

He could feel Clarice’s eyes going wide as saucers even though he wasn’t looking at her face. 

“Oh, he doesn’t hate you! No, no way. Every couple bickers, do not worry.”

Elio sighed, his pen now scribbling rivulets of ink over the crossed off words, lost in thought.  
“It wasn’t bickering. Not this morning.”

Clarice was quiet for a moment. She was young, and sometimes even too naive for her age. But she was pretty good at knowing when reassuring words would not help. 

“Is there something I can do to help?” she asked, her voice soft. 

Elio shook his head. “No. But,” and he placed the pen back down, stood. “There is something I can do. I can do my job. At least show him there’s something I’m good at.”

He started walking towards the hallway.   
“Wait, where are you going?” Clarice called after him. 

“I’m going to get that book. Then hopefully I’ll be less useless around here.”

  
  


  
Clarice had explained where the so called marital room was a couple of days before, via the instructions Mrs Danvers had passed onto her.   
And all in all, it wasn’t difficult to find, once you knew which door to take. The bedroom was at the end of its very own hallway, one which led to the most southern side of the mansion. Like all the other hallways at Manderley, this too was darkened; as much as it was eerie to see, Elio had gotten used to it. 

Jaw set, Elio followed along the hallway until he reached the end. The door was made of dark wood, and decorated with complicated inlays, symbols that Elio couldn’t make out properly in the dark but which he imagined were linked to the history of Manderley. 

Nervously, he reached for the door handle. No doors were locked at Manderley, which was strange, but yet another aspect that Elio was now used to.   
The way the door creaked as he opened it was nothing short of eerie, and that was something he had expected. And he was expecting a place that was dishevelled, somehow. A place that was unused, almost abandoned. Oliver had only been there a handful of times since they’d gotten to Manderley. Nobody else had really used the room since Elise’s death. 

Instead, what Elio saw shocked him. 

The room was spotless. Tidy. Perfectly set, perfectly decorated. The curtains were drawn, and the light came in, caressing the immaculate white carpet and making it shine with silver tones. The bed frame was decorated with ivory and gold; the bedsheets, made of silk and velvet, were clean, seemed fresh. The whole room smelled good, like flowers. 

It didn’t seem like somewhere that hadn’t been lived in. It didn’t seem like a dead, unused place. 

Elio swallowed, and stepped in further, looking around himself.

The room was very large, much larger than any other bedroom he’d seen at Manderley - probably double the size of his own. 

Across from the bed there was a fireplace, also decorated with gold and ivory, also perfectly spotless. Wood logs sat next to it, cradled in a holder, as if they were just waiting to be used by the room’s guest. A velvety sofa, dark purple, was beside the fireplace; and then, next to that, a vanity, with a very large, beautifully built mirror. And again next to it more expensive furniture stood, just waiting for their owner to return: a pearl-coloured dresser, a tall wardrobe. A little table with fresh flowers. 

And pictures. Pictures everywhere. Photographs and paintings, on the walls, on the mantelpiece. And all featured one person, of course: Elise. 

Beautiful, gorgeous, smiling, perfect Elise. Elise on her own; and Elise with others. With people Elio didn’t know. With Mrs Danvers. And many, many photo of her with her husband, Oliver De Winter. 

Elio swallowed, tried to remember what he was here for, but it all seemed irrelevant, uninteresting now. His eyes kept scanning the room, disbelieving and yet unable to stop looking. 

On the dresser, a jewelry dish lay, gold-rimmed, and shined to perfection. Atop of it, two rings. Two wedding rings. One larger than the other. An obvious his and hers.

Elio took a step back, feeing dizzy.   
This was not the room of someone who had died a year prior. This was the room of someone who was liked, who was loved, by everyone, and especially by her husband. This was a shrine. A perfectly kept memento for someone gone but not forgotten, something kept exactly as it had been, waiting for its owner to come back.   
It was a love letter. 

Elio felt his eyes prickle with tears. 

What was he doing here? What was he doing in Manderley?

His heart beat fast, and he felt like he needed air. He needed to leave. He wasn’t even supposed to be in this room, and he should have listened to his sense instead of following his curiosity. 

He left the room, listening to the door close behind him, and he walked fast along the corridor - he wanted to leave, he needed to be outside, to breathe, but his eyes were veiled with tears, and it was hard to even see his steps. 

When he bumped into someone, he didn’t even notice he wasn’t alone. 

“Elio?” 

Edward. 

Elio shook his head. “Sorry. I have to go.”

“Elio. Wait. What’s going on?”

Elio didn’t want to stop, but it was like his feet refused to obey.   
God, he needed to talk to someone. 

“Hey,” Edward called again. He walked closer. Elio covered his face with the palm of his hands, feeling like he no longer had a grip on anything. 

“Are you alright? What happened?” Edward asked. 

“I don’t - I don’t know.” 

Elio didn’t even know what to say. He was the one who’d instigated the fight with Oliver that morning; but Oliver was the one who was betraying him, with the ghost of his dead wife. 

He was expecting Edward to ask again. Ask more questions.

Instead, he felt hands cup his cheeks. Thumbs on the wet skin, covered in tears, not stroking, just holding there. 

“It’ll be fine,” Edward said. “You needed to know.”

“No,” Elio shook his head, though Edward was holding him, and he couldn’t really move. “No, I -“

“It’s better this way, sweetheart. You’re too good. You’re too gorgeous for someone like him.”

Elio tried to blink, wanting to clear his vision long enough to look at Edward. He frowned. What was he talking about?

“Edward, what-“

“Trust me. Trust me,” Edward repeated, his voice now much closer. 

Through his tears Elio forced himself to open his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“Shh.” Edward’s hands held his face firmly. They tipped it up, towards Edward’s own, and then the man was speaking, voice low and steady as if to reassure a frightened animal. “Shh, beautiful. Come here.” 

And then Elio felt it. Edward’s mouth, on his. Edward pressing against him. His hands holding, not letting Elio go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😱


	31. In town

“Get off me!”

Elio’s hands were on Edward’s chest before his mind had even realised he was moving, the palms colliding with the man’s pristine uniform jacket and pushing back, away from himself.   
When his mind caught up, a moment later, Elio saw his own fingers trembling. 

“Oh, Elio. I thought you -“

“You thought what?” Elio took a step back, his eyes staring at Edward, watching for any movement from him. 

Edward’s eyebrows rose. He didn’t seem upset; and when he spoke, his words clashed so clearly with his expression which tried to convey good intentions.   
“Well, from the way you’ve been acting, your interest was clear.”

“My interest?” Elio took another step back. He felt the blood beat into his temples, all his senses in high alert. “What are you talking about?”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart. We both know what I’m talking about.” Edward’s eyebrows rose again. Elio, in shock, disbelieving, could not utter a word. “You’re wasted with that man. Just like Elise was. And you want someone else, just like she did. If not now, you soon will. It always happens.”

Elio could not believe what he was hearing, what he was seeing. Was this really happening?

“I don’t care what Elise did or didn’t do. I am engaged to Oliver and I love him. I am not available and I am not interested in anyone else!”

Edward’s eyes were smiling. He was smiling. With a knowing expression on his face, he stood for a moment, looking at Elio like he were a child who didn’t know what was good for him. 

“You’re lying to yourself, sweetheart. You know you are. That man doesn’t deserve you.” 

Before Elio could even register it, Edward took a step towards him; and then Elio’s defences kicked in. He stepped back, and set his jaw, closed his hands into fists at his sides. 

“Don’t you ever, ever come near me again. Do you hear me? Never again,” he said, his voice raised, breathing fast.   
He needed to leave. He needed to remove himself from this situation. 

He turned around, his heart drumming in his chest, and started walking away. 

“You better not say anything of this to anyone. Especially to your beloved,” Edward called after him. Before Elio could tune him out, he spoke again. “If you do, I’ll admit to it. But I will also tell him exactly where we were, and the room I saw you coming out of.”

  
  


Elio knew he had to take a breath, and stop, think of the best thing to do. But he couldn’t.   
He couldn’t wait for Oliver to be back, he couldn’t wait another full day. He couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened, and there was no one he could talk to. 

And so he went to his room. Grabbed his duffel bag, stuffed it with some clothes, some money, not really paying attention about what he was putting in there, just wanting to make sure he did it quickly; and then he grabbed his coat.   
He was almost out the door when there was a knock.

“Elio? Elio, are you alright?”

Elio swallowed, took a breath that didn’t help calm him down as he had hoped. 

“Yes, Clarice, I’m fine,” he called back. 

The door opened, slowly, and the girl peeked in tentatively. She looked worried. 

“I - saw you running to your room, I called for you but I don’t - think you heard me...”

“Yeah, I -“ Elio focused his attention on his bag, making sure it was properly closed, so that he wouldn’t have to look at her, show his eyes and how upset he really was. “I have to go into town.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Clarice asked.

Elio shook his head. “No, no,” he put his coat on, pulled the bag over his shoulder. All the while avoiding the young maid’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. I have to go.”

Clarice called for him as he was about to leave.   
“Elio, wait,” she said, tentatively, though she sounded urgent, worried. “Where will you go? I can tell you’re upset, and - I don’t mean to pry, but-“

“I just need to get out of here.” Elio, finally, looked at her. His eyes were bright, tears pushing to come out; he decided that he didn’t care if she saw. Clarice knew something was very wrong already, anyway. And he needed to talk to someone. He needed to.   
“I don’t know where I’ll go, I - just need to get out, away from this place for a while.”

The girl looked at him. Her eyebrows were knitted tightly in her worry, but her eyes were also full of sympathy. As if she knew. 

“I can go with you,” she said, took a step towards him. “It’s no issue, Elio.”

“No, I - it’s fine, Clarice, I’m fine,” Elio tried to say, though a traitorous tear escaped from the corner of his eye and he had to brush it away quickly. 

“Where will you go?” Clarice asked again, quietly. 

It wasn’t something Elio had thought about. He just needed to get out of here. 

He hesitated, and she continued. 

“We can go to my parents’ house. I go back when I have some time off. They will be happy to see us.”

Her eyes were wide, and sincere. She seemed really concerned. 

And Elio closed his eyes a moment, and then looked back at her. 

  
Clarice’s parents lived in town, in a small but homely house.   
Clarice had three younger siblings, two brothers and one sister; all living, noisily but quite happily, under the roof of one house, sharing two bedrooms between the whole family. 

Clarice’s mother Maria seemed very happy to see her, hugging her tightly on the door. She reminded Elio of his own mother, also by the way she looked at him, smiled and embraced him too, inviting them both inside. 

“I am so, so sorry, mister De Winter,” Maria said, her hands held together on her chest, fingers wringing in worry. “We have a small house you see, it’s messy, these rascals never listen when I tell them to tidy up...”

“Please, just call me Elio,” Elio asked, gently. He’d jumped at the mention of his surname - or the one he would have, soon. Maybe. “And please do not worry at all. I’m sorry to come unannounced.”

“Nonsense,” Maria smiled. “You’ll stay a while, won’t you? I’ll make up your beds so you can be a little more comfortable. Jack was just going out to the butcher for dinner.”

A boy, who looked Elio’s age but was perhaps a little younger, stood in the room also, looking straight at Elio, not uttering a word. When his mother mentioned his name, as if remembering what he was supposed to do, he left, not saying anything still, seemingly too shy to do so.

“We will stay for tonight, mother,” Clarice smiled at her, then looked at Elio, to check his expression. “I had the evening off, so Mrs Danvers won’t be able to ask questions.”

Maria smiled, too, but her eyes seemed knowing. 

“Alright then. Let’s get you two comfortable and get you both some tea.”

  
Elio was mostly quiet for the whole evening. He just took in his surroundings. The house that reminded him so much of his own back in Italy. The nice, home made food, that was a hundred times more rustic and unrefined than the food he’d been having at Manderley, and yet right now seemed way better, way more filling and flavoursome. The two younger children who, having gotten past their initial shyness towards him, now were asking him questions, telling him stories. Clarice’s quiet company, sitting beside him at the table. Maria, how she explained that Clarice’s father worked in the mine and came home really late at night, but he would have been happy to see his daughter and Elio too that night. The way she didn’t need to ask so many questions to know what both her daughter and Elio were experiencing at Manderley. 

At the end of the dinner, the two younger children were bored enough of the adults that they went to the bedroom to play before bed. 

“Let me help you clear up,” Elio said, standing, but Clarice stopped him. 

“No, no, let me do this. You sit here, and rest a bit. Mother, you too.”

Maria smiled at her daughter; and then dried her hands on her apron, and sat down at the table with Elio. 

“We heard about you, you know. About you coming from France. That Mister De Winter had found his perfect companion.” 

Her voice was soft, and not inquisitive. She wasn’t fishing for information; she seemed interested, genuinely. 

“Yeah.” Elio looked down, feeling his cheeks flush up. He didn’t know they’d heard about him; but he tried to ignore the thought of it, the thought of the scrutiny he had unwittingly been under. He supposed it was a small town, with not much happening. 

“How are you finding it, honey?” Again, Maria’s voice was careful; soft. Concerned. 

And Elio swallowed. He knew Clarice must have told her a lot about Manderley, since she got a job there. Maria probably knew a lot more than she was letting on.   
It was a tough environment for her daughter, too. 

“I -“ Elio started. He looked up at her eyes. What would he say if she was his mother?  
“It’s - different. More - complicated than I expected,” he said. “It’s different from what I was used to, so many - things to learn.” 

“I can imagine,” Maria nodded, full of sympathy. This must have been something she’d certainly heard from her daughter too. 

Elio took a breath. 

“I think I - was very excited to come here with Oliver but maybe - maybe I didn’t realise how many rules and - and tasks and what my role was going to be. It’s - it’s a lot.” He was being more sincere, now.

With the same sincerity, Maria asked. “How old are you, Elio?”

“Seventeen.”

Maria pursed her lips together, her gaze even softer now.   
She reached out, cupping his face very gently with the palm of her hand. Her skin was warm against his. 

“You’re so young.” She sighed; stroked her thumb over his cheekbone, then let him go. “Kids get married off really young, little more than children, you know. People think sixteen, seventeen is the right age, so that you get used to the life you have to lead, get used to your husband, learn quickly.” She sighed again. “But I told my daughter she could do whatever she wanted. If she doesn’t want to get married yet, and do something else instead, then that’s fine, too.”

Elio blinked, and took a breath, too. Her words were direct, but he knew there was no judgement in them. 

“I thought,” he started, swallowed. “I love Oliver. And this is why I said yes to him, to getting married. And because he- “ Elio looked down, at his hands, fingers tormenting each other into his lap. “Because he said he loved me too.”

This was the first time he had been so honest, with anyone, since he’d gotten to Manderley. 

Maria’s lips stretched into a small smile. 

“And I’m sure he does love you,” she said, nodding. “Since the death of his wife Elise he hadn’t been seen with anyone else. You know. People said he was in mourning. He’s been alone, all this time. And so, that he found you, that’s - a really big thing.”

The mention of Elise made Elio’s heart skip a beat. He remembered everything he had seen in that room; the room that was a shrine to her. To her, and her marriage to Oliver. 

“Do you think he-“ and here Elio hesitated, bit his lip. This was unsafe territory to be wading into, a really dangerous question to ask. But he felt, in his heart, that he could trust Maria, just as much as he trusted Clarice. “Do you think Oliver had anything to do with Elise’s death.”

Maria was quiet for a moment. 

“I don’t know, my love,” she said, honestly, shaking his head. She wasn’t surprised at his question; it was certainly one she had heard before. “People say a lot of horrible things, about everything. It doesn’t mean they are true. Only those really know him will know the truth.”

Elio nodded, looking down into his hands again.   
He’d really wanted to be one of those people. A person who really knew Oliver.   
He didn’t know if he’d ever be. 

He hadn’t even noticed he’d started crying, silent tears streaking down his cheeks; until Maria reached out again, cupped his cheek and brushed tears away. 

“It’ll be alright, sweetheart,” she said. She reached out for a clean handkerchief, and used it to dry his tears, gently. 

  
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay a little longer?” Elio asked the day after, when he and Clarice were up, and dressed, ready to go back to Manderley.   
It was early, and apart from Jack, Clarice’s siblings were still asleep - she’d been in the room to kiss both on their foreheads goodbye. 

“Oh, no,” she shook her head, the smile on her face a little forced. “I’m working today. Mrs Danvers will kill me if I don’t show up.” 

Elio looked to Maria; at how her eyes hardened at the mention of that name. 

“Well, my children,” Maria said, an encouraging smile back on her face. “Thank you for coming to visit. You made us all very happy.”

“Goodbye, mum,” Clarice said, reaching for a hug. Maria then also took Elio into her arms, squeezing him as hard as she had done her daughter. 

  
As their taxi cab pulled up to Manderley, Elio took a deep breath. 

He didn’t want to see Edward.   
And Clarice, next to him, looked at him, worried, and reached out to squeeze his hand. 

Elio steeled himself, lifted his chin, and then made himself get off the cab. He held his hand tight onto the strap of his duffel bag; watched as the butlers opened the main door at their arrival. 

As Elio made himself walk in, he froze at what he saw, who he saw, standing there, waiting. 

Oliver. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for the delay in updating this time. I have been so busy with work. 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter anyway though. Please let me know what you think?


	32. Pleased to assist

Elio set his jaw. 

Oliver was standing there, in the foyer, looking at him. Elio could feel Clarice’s eyes, worried, on himself; and as he let his own gaze scan the room, he saw Edward, too, at the back of the room. He couldn’t make out his expression, or perhaps Edward was not betraying any emotion, on purpose. 

Elio brought his eyes back to Oliver. The older man still stood, in silence, his own blue eyes wide and intense. 

“I didn’t know where you were,” Oliver said. And Elio hadn’t expected to hear him sound so hesitant; so tentative. 

“I went with Clarice to visit her family. Last night.” What point was there to lie? And besides, Elio hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“You didn’t say anything.”

“It wasn’t planned.” Elio swallowed again. Thinking of what had prompted his need to leave Manderley the day before.   
He felt Edward’s gaze, pointed, and steeled himself to ignore it. “I thought you were going to be away for two days.”

He held his breath when he realised what he’d said, how it sounded. As if he was covering up what he’d done, as if he’d planned something behind Oliver’s back.   
He was about to say something more - the last thing he wanted right now was for Oliver to get the wrong impression - but Oliver stepped forward, towards him. Closing the distance between them, and before Elio could even say anything, Oliver’s hands cupped his cheeks, the older man lifting Elio’s face to look up towards him. 

“I couldn’t stay away for that long. Not after how I’d left you.” 

Elio blinked. Frowned.   
Oliver’s palms were warm against his face, soft. Oliver looked worried. 

Elio waited. 

“I’m sorry. For how I left you, for - the fight. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Elio blinked. Oliver was apologising. He seemed so anguished, genuinely contrite. 

And while relief bloomed in a corner of Elio’s mind, the rest was filled with confusion. He’d been the one to start the fight. He’d been the one to go into Elise’s room without permission; and, worst of all, there was still the whole matter of Edward, and what he had done. 

Even though his face was still cradled in between Oliver’s hands, Elio shook his head gently. 

“I started the fight, Oliver. I should be the one to apologise.” He had to say it. 

Oliver smiled, tentatively. 

“Perhaps we could say we’re going to try and make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he suggested. 

His voice was quiet, calm. Almost hesitant. 

And all Elio could think about was that there was nothing he wanted more.  
To never fight with Oliver again. To know the truth, and know that the past was done and gone. To tell him what he knew, what he’d seen, and for Oliver to explain and to trust him. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking that in reality they both still hid secrets from each other.   
Edward’s presence at the back of the room, when Elio opened his eyes again, was even more ominous now. 

“Can we go to our room, please?” Elio asked softly. He still couldn’t believe this was what he was asking Oliver, couldn’t believe that Oliver wasn’t angry with him, that they were apologising to each other instead of fighting. “So we can talk.”

“Of course,” Oliver murmured. His thumbs skimmed Elio’s cheekbones for a moment, and then he let him go. 

Back in their room, Elio had to take another deep breath.   
They were finally alone, and when Oliver closed the door behind them, Elio bit his lower lip. He felt strange - lighter, as if a huge weight had lifted from his chest. He felt as if he and Oliver were back to the beginning - listening to each other. Wanting to bridge gaps, wanting to be together.   
Perhaps he should tell Oliver everything; what he’d seen, what Edward had done. 

“I missed you.” 

Oliver’s voice halted Elio’s train of thought. The boy looked up, into Oliver’s eyes. The room was dark, the curtains drawn, and Oliver’s irises were ocean blue and deep.   
He seemed so sincere. Almost...lost. 

“I missed you too.” Elio was sincere, too. 

Oliver took a step towards him, and now he was close again, closer than they had been down in the foyer. 

“I kept thinking how unfair I’ve been. All this time. And how you’ve only been honest with me. You’ve only offered me love, and patience, and trust and understanding. So -I’m sorry, Elio.”

He held Elio’s eyes. And Elio swallowed. 

“It’s - we’ve both said and done things that we shouldn’t have.” 

“But you just wanted to know the truth,” Oliver shook his head. “It’s - a lot to take in, a lot to - handle, this place, what happened in my past. I wanted to protect you from it.” He chuckled, quietly, bitterly. “I didn’t do a very good job of it.” 

Elio took a breath. “You tried.”

“When I came back, and you weren’t here, I ... I thought you’d left me.” 

There it was again. That voice. Lost, helpless. Oliver seemed to genuinely afraid of that possibility, the possibility of Elio disappearing from his life, in a way that Elio had never thought possible. 

“I’m not going to leave,” Elio murmured. “I’m not going to leave you.”

It was the truth. Elio didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to leave Oliver.   
He was happy, he was so relieved that Oliver had wanted to mend things between them. He was glad that he’d wanted to apologise, that he’d admitted to having made a mistake.   
He wished they could always be this way, that nothing could come between them again. 

Elio smiled, when Oliver smiled in response to his words.   
The older man took the final step that separated them, and took Elio into his arms, held him. He pressed his lips against Elio’s temple; then pulled back, and Elio looked up, offered his mouth for the kiss that he knew was coming. 

  
They didn’t leave the bedroom for the whole morning. 

Elio knew talking had been good, but the silence was good too - the closeness, the skin, their moans and warmth and touches and whispered praises and words as they made love were equally important, equally missed. 

He closed his eyes as Oliver combed his curls aside with his fingers to expose the nape of his neck to his kisses. He held his fingers twined into Oliver’s on his hips, as Oliver fucked him from behind and kissed his shoulders; he wrapped his legs around Oliver’s waist, opened his mouth, kissed him as deeply as he could. 

He felt Oliver’s smile next to him on the bed, as he lay supine, with Oliver’s hand over his heart, moving up and down with his breaths. 

“I might end up being the laziest person in the whole of Cornwall today,” Oliver murmured then, eyes closed, voice lazy, but playful. “But I think I might sleep for a few minutes, if you don’t mind. I travelled during the night to come back. Didn’t rest much.”

Elio kissed his bicep. “Of course I don’t mind,” he smiled himself against Oliver’s skin.   
And he really didn’t. As he watched Oliver’s eyes settle closed, his breathing slow down, Elio thought he would maybe nap too. Or read for a while. Or write. 

A very soft rap to the door made him turn towards the entrance.   
Somebody had knocked, like sometimes the staff did when they brought up food - but they hadn’t requested anything.   
Elio gazed towards Oliver, checking that he hadn’t woken, and then disentangled gently to go and see.

He tried to be as quiet as possible as he opened the door. No one was on the other side; but his gaze fell down to the floor, to where a book lay. 

Elio had never seen that book before and yet, he recognised it instantly. 

Elise’s book. The one he’d gone into her room to search for. 

On top of the book lay a note. As Elio crouched down to pick it up, he read it.

_“As requested._

_Always pleased to assist._

_Edward.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I’m so sorry for the delay. I’ve been so busy, and to be honest, my inspiration had abandoned me lately. It was a struggle. I’m hoping it’ll come back.  
> And I’m hoping that you’re still reading! And that you want to read more. I can only apologise a million times for this delay, but I’ll ask you once again to please leave me a comment if you are reading.
> 
> Hope you are all doing as good as possible. 
> 
> Sending love xx

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me/ask me anything on Twitter: [here](https://twitter.com/TeahousemoonAo3)
> 
> And on Tumblr: [here](https://teahousemoonao3.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Love from me xx


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